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GRISLY  GRISELL 


THE  LAIDLY  LADY  OF  WHITBUEN 


A  TALE  OF  THE  WARS  OF  THE  ROSES 


BY 

CHARLOTTE  M.   YONGE 

Author  or  "  The  Heir  op  Redclyffe,"  etc.,  etc. 


MACMILLAN  AND    CO. 

AND    LONDON 

1893 

All  rights  reserved 


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Copyright,  1893, 
By  MACMILLAN  &  CO. 


Men  speak  of  Job,  and  for  his  humblesse, 
And  clerkes  when  hem  list  can  well  endite, 
Namely  of  men,  but  as  in  stedfastnese 
Though  clerkes  preisin  women  but  a  lite, 
There  can  no  man  in  humblesse  him  acquite 
As  women  can,  nor  can  be  half  so  trewe 
As  women  ben. 

Chaucer,  The  device's  Tale. 


HENRV  MORSe  STEPHE»« 


Norfajooti  iPreasj : 

J.  S.  Gushing  &  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith. 

Boston,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTEB  *  PAGE 

I.     An  Explosion 1 

II.     The  Broken  Match 12 

III.     The  Mirror 26 

rV.    Parting 36 

V.    Sister  Avice 46 

VI.     The  Proctor 57 

VII.  The  Pilgrim  of  Salisbury          ....  68 

VIII.     Old  Playfellows 80 

IX.     The  King-maker 87 

X.     Cold  Welcome 101 

XI.     Bernard 112 

XII.     Word  from  the  Wars 127 

XIII.  A  Knot 137 

XIV.  The  Lonely  Bride 150 

XV.  Wakefield  Bridge       ......  159 

V 


514179 


Vi  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XVI.     A  New  Master 169 

XVII.     Strange  Guests 177 

XVIII.     Witchery .185 

XIX.     A  March  Hare 195 

XX.  A  Blight  on  the  White  Rose      .         .         .     205 

XXI.     The  Wounded  Knight 213 

XXII.  The  City  of  Bridges     .         .         .         .         .222 

XXIII.  The  Cankered  Oak  Gall      .         .         .         .231 

XXIV.  Grisell's  Patience          .         .         .         .         .     244 
XXV.  The  Old  Duchess  .         .       . .       ...         .253 

XXVI.  The  Duke's  Death         .         .         .         .         .     260 

XXVII.  Forget  Me  Not      .         .         ....     268 

XXVIII.  The  Pageant  .         .         .         .         .         .         .274 

XXIX.  Duchess  Margaret         .        .        .         .        .     285 

XXX.     The  Wedding  Chimes 295 


CHAPTER  I 

AN  EXPLOSION 

It  was  a  great  pity,  so  it  was,  this  villanous  saltpetre 
should  be  digg'd  out  of  the  bowels  of  the  harmless  earth. 
Shakespeare,  King  Henry  JV.,  Part  I. 

A  TERRIBLE  shriek  rang  through  the  great 
Manor-house  of  Amesbury.  It  was  preceded  by  a 
loud  explosion,  and  there  was  agony  as  well  as 
terror  in  the  cry.  Then  followed  more  shrieks 
and  screams,  some  of  pain,  some  of  fright,  others 
of  anger  and  recrimination.  Every  one  in  the 
house  ran  together  to  the  spot  whence  the  cries 
proceeded,  namely,  the  lower  court,  where  the 
armourer  and  blacksmith  had  their  workshops. 

There  was  a  group  of  children,  the  young  people 
who  were  confided  to  the  great  Earl  Richard  and 
Countess  Alice  of  Salisbury  for  education  and 
training.  Boys  and  girls  were  alike  there,  some 
of  the  latter  crying  and  sobbing,  others  mingling 
with  the  lads  in  the  hot  dispute  as  to  'who  did  it.' 

By  the  time  the  gentle  but  stately  Countess  had 
reached  the  place,  all  the  grown-up  persons  of  the 


2c.    .  •         ,     GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 


6s4;abUshnieiit  — ;  knights,  squires,  grooms,  scul- 
lions,"' ^nd  f ^iftales  of  every  degree  —  had  thronged 
round  them,  but  parted  at  her  approach,  though 
one  of  the  knights  said,  'Nay,  Lady  Countess,  'tis 
no  sight  for  you.  The  poor  little  maid  is  dead, 
or  nigh  upon  it. ' 

'But  who  is  it?  What  is  it?  '  asked  the  Coun- 
tess, still  advancing. 

A  confused  medley  of  voices  replied,  'The  Lord 
of  Whitburn's  little  wench  —  Leonard  Copeland 
—  gunpowder. ' 

'And  no  marvel, '  said  a  sturdy,  begrimed  figure, 
'if  the  malapert  young  gentles  be  let  to  run  all 
over  the  courts,  and  handle  that  with  which  they 
have  no  concern,  lads  and  wenches  alike. ' 

'Nay,  how  can  I  stop  it  when  my  lady  will  not 
have  the  maidens  kept  ever  at  their  distaffs  and 
needles  in  seemly  fashion, '  cried  a  small  but  stout 
and  self-assertive  dame,  known  as  'Mother  of  the 
Maidens,'  then  starting,  'Oh!  my  lady,  I  crave 
your  pardon,  I  knew  not  you  were  in  this  coil! 
And  if  the  men-at-arms  be  let  to  have  their  peril- 
ous goods  strewn  all  over  the  place,  no  wonder  at 
any  mishap. 

'Do  not  wrangle  about  the  cause,'  said  the 
Countess.     'Who  is  hurt?     How  much?' 

The  crowd  parted  enough  for  her  to  make  way 


I  AN  EXPLOSION  2 

to  where  a  girl  of  about  ten  was  lying  prostrate 
and  bleeding  with  her  head  on  a  woman's  lap. 

'Poor  maid,'  was  the  cry,  'poor  maid!  'Tis  all 
over  with  her.  It  will  go  ill  with  young  Leonard 
Copeland. ' 

'Worse  with  Hodge  Smith  for  letting  him  touch 
his  irons.' 

'Nay,  what  call  had  Dick  Jenner  to  lay  his  foul, 
burning  gunpowder  —  a  device  of  Satan  —  in  this 
yard?  A  mercy  we  are  not  all  blown  to  the 
winds.' 

The  Countess,  again  ordering  peace,  reached  the 
girl,  whose  moans  showed  that  she  was  still  alive, 
and  between  the  barber-surgeon  and  the  porter's 
wife  she  was  lifted  up,  and  carried  to  a  bed,  the 
Countess  Alice  keeping  close  to  her,  though  the 
'Mother  of  the  Maidens,'  who  was  a  somewhat 
helpless  personage,  hung  back,  declaring  that  the 
sight  of  the  wounds  made  her  swoon.  There  were 
terrible  wounds  upon  the  face  and  neck,  which 
seemed  to  be  almost  bared  of  skin.  The  lady, 
who  had  been  bred  to  some  knowledge  of  surgical 
skill,  together  with  the  barber-surgeon,  did  their 
best  to  allay  the  agony  with  applications  of  sweet 
oil.  Perhaps  if  they  had  had  more  of  what  was 
then  considered  skill,  it  might  have  been  worse 
for  her. 


4  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

The  Countess  remained  anxiously  trying  all  that 
could  allay  the  suffering  of  the  poor  little  semi- 
conscious patient,  who  kept  moaning  for  'nurse.' 
She  was  Grisell  Dacre,  the  daughter  of  the  Baron 
of  Whitburn,  and  had  been  placed,  young  as  she 
was,  in  the  household  of  the  Countess  of  Salisbury 
on  her  mother  being  made  one  of  the  ladies 
attending  on  the  young  Queen  Margaret  of 
Anjou,  lately  married  to  King  Henry  VI. 

Attendance  on  the  patient  had  prevented  the 
Countess  from  hearing  the  history  of  the  accident, 
but  presently  the  clatter  of  horses'  feet  showed 
that  her  lord  was  returning,  and,  committing  the 
girl  to  her  old  nurse,  she  went  down  to  the  hall 
to  receive  him. 

The  grave,  grizzled  warrior  had  taken  his  seat 
on  his  cross-legged,  round-backed  chair,  and  a  boy 
of  some  twelve  years  old  stood  before  him,  in  a 
sullen  attitude,  one  foot  over  the  other,  and  his 
shoulder  held  fast  by  a  squire,  while  the  motley 
crowd  of  retainers  stood  behind. 

There  was  a  move  at  the  entrance  of  the  lady, 
and  her  husband  rose,  came  forward,  and  as  he 
gave  her  the  courteous  kiss  of  greeting,  demanded, 
*  What  is  all  this  coil  ?    Is  the  little  wench  dead  ?  ' 

'Nay,  but  I  fear  me  she  cannot  live,'  was  the 
answer. 


1  AN  EXPLOSION  6 

'Will  Dacre  of  Whitburn's  maid?  That's  ill, 
poor  child!     How  fell  it  out? ' 

'That  I  know  as  little  as  you,'  was  the  answer. 
'I  have  been  seeing  to  the  poor  little  maid's  hurts.' 

Lord  Salisbury  placed  her  in  the  chair  like  his 
own.  In  point  of  fact,  she  was  Countess  in  her 
own  right;  he,  Richard  Nevil,  had  been  created 
Earl  of  Salisbury  in  her  right  on  the  death  of  her 
father,  the  staunch  warrior  of  Henry  V.  in  the 
siege  of  Orleans. 

'Speak  out,  Leonard  Copeland,'  said  the  Earl. 
'What  hast  thou  done?' 

The  boy  only  growled,  'I  never  meant  to  hurt 
the  maid.' 

'Speak  to  the  point,  sir,'  said  Lord  Salisbury 
sternly;  'give  yourself  at  least  the  grace  of 
truth.' 

Leonard  grew  more  silent  under  the  show  of 
displeasure,  and  only  hung  his  head  at  the  re- 
peated calls  to  him  to  speak.  The  Earl  turned 
to  those  who  were  only  too  eager  to  accuse  him. 

'He  took  a  bar  of  iron  from  the  forge,  so  please 
you,  my  lord,  and  put  it  to  the  barrel  of  powder.' 

'Is  this  true,  Leonard?'  demanded  the  Earl 
again,  amazed  at  the  frantic  proceeding,  and 
Leonard  muttered  'Aye,'  vouchsafing  no  more, 
and  looking  black  as  thunder  at  a  fair,  handsome 


6  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

boy  who  pressed  to  his  side  and  said,  'Uncle,' 
doffing  his  cap,  'so  please  you,  my  lord,  the 
barrels  had  just  been  brought  in  upon  Hob  Car- 
ter's wain,  and  Leonard  said  they  ought  to  have 
the  Lord  Earl's  arms  on  them.  So  he  took  a  bar 
of  hot  iron  from  the  forge  to  mark  the  saltire  on 
them,  and  thereupon  there  was  this  burst  of  smoke 
and  flame,  and  the  maid,  who  was  leaning  over, 
prying  into  his  doings,  had  the  brunt  thereof. ' 

'Thanks  to  the  saints  that  no  further  harm  was 
done,'  ejaculated  the  lady  shuddering,  while  her 
lord  proceeded  — '  It  was  not  malice,  but  malapert 
meddling,  then.  Master  Leonard  Copeland,  thou 
must  be  scourged  to  make  thee  keep  thine  hands 
off  where  they  be  not  needed.  For  the  rest,  thou 
must  await  what  my  Lord  of  Whitburn  may  re- 
quire. Take  him  away,  John  Ellerby,  chastise 
him,  and  keep  him  in  ward  till  we  see  the  issue. ' 

Leonard,  with  his  head  .on  liigh,  marched  out  of 
the  hall,  not  uttering  a  word,  but  shaking  his 
shoulder  as  if  to  get  rid  of  the  squire's  grasp,  but 
only  thereby  causing  himself  to  be  gripped  the 
faster. 

Next,  Lord  Salisbury's  severity  fell  upon  Hob 
the  carter  and  Hodge  the  smith,  for  leaving  such 
perilous  wares  unwatched  in  the  court-yard. 
Servants  were  not  dismissed  for  carelessness  in 


I  AN  EXPLOSION  7 

those  days,  but  soundly  flogged,  a  punishment 
considered  suitable  to  the  'blackguard  '  at  any  age, 
even  under  the  mildest  rule.  The  gunner,  being 
somewhat  higher  in  position,  and  not  in  charge  at 
the  moment,  was  not  called  to  account,  but  the 
next  question  was,  how  the  'Mother  of  the  Maids  ' 
—  the  gouvernante  in  charge  of  the  numerous 
damsels  who  formed  the  train  of  the  Lady  of  Salis- 
bury, and  were  under  education  and  training  — 
could  have  permitted  her  maidens  to  stray  into  the 
regions  appropriated  to  the  yeomen  and  archers, 
and  others  of  the  mein^,  where  they  certainly  had 
no  business. 

It  appeared  that  the  good  and  portly  lady  had 
last  seen  the  girls  in  the  gardens  'a  playing  at 
the  ball '  with  some  of  the  pages,  and  that  there, 
on  a  sunny  garden  seat,  slumber  had  prevented 
her  from  discovering  the  absence  of  the  younger 
part  of  the  bevy.  The  demure  elder  damsels 
deposed  that,  at  the  sound  of  wains  coming  into 
the  court,  the  boys  had  rushed  off,  and  the  younger 
girls  had  followed  them,  whether  with  or  without 
warning  was  not  made  clear.  Poor  little  Grisell's 
condition  might  have  been  considered  a  sufficient 
warning,  nevertheless  the  two  companions  in  her 
misdemeanour  were  condemned  to  a  whipping,  to 
enforce  on  them  a  lesson  of  maidenliness ;  and 


8  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

though  the  Mother  of  the  Maids  could  not  partake 
of  the  flagellation,  she  remained  under  her  lord's 
and  lady's  grave  displeasure,  and  probably  would 
have  to  submit  to  a  severe  penance  from  the  priest 
for  her  carelessness.  Yet,  as  she  observed.  Mis- 
tress Grisell  was  a  North  Country  maid,  never 
couthly  or  conformable,  but  like  a  boy,  who  would 
moreover  always  be  after  Leonard  Copeland, 
whether  he  would  or  no. 

It  was  the  more  unfortunate,  as  Lord  Salisbury 
lamented  to  his  wife,  because  the  Copelands  were 
devoted  to  the  Somerset  faction;  and  the  King 
had  been  labouring  to  reconcile  them  to  the  Dacres, 
and  to  bring  about  a  contract  of  marriage  between 
these  two  unfortunate  children,  but  he  feared  that 
whatever  he  could  dp,  there  would  only  be  addi- 
tional feud  and  bitterness,  though  it  was  clear  that 
the  mishap  was  accidental.  The  Lord  of  Whit- 
burn himself  was  in  Ireland  with  the  Duke  of 
York,  while  his  lady  was  in  attendance  on  the 
j^oung  Queen,  and  it  was  judged  right  and  seemly 
to  despatch  to  her  a  courier  with  the  tidings  of 
her  daughter's  disaster,  although  in  point  of  fact, 
where  a  house  could  number  sons,  damsels  were 
not  thought  of  great  value,  except  as  the  means 
of  being  allied  with  other  houses.  A  message 
was  also  sent  to  Sir  William  Copeland  that  his 


I  AN  EXPLOSION  0 

son  had  been  the  death  of  the  daughter  of  Whit- 
burn ;  for  poor  little  Grisell  lay  moaning  in  a  state 
of  much  fever  and  great  suffering,  so  that  the 
Lady  Salisbury  could  not  look  at  her,  nor  hear 
her  sighs  and  sobs  without  tears,  and  the  barber- 
surgeon,  unaccustomed  to  the  effects  of  gunpow- 
der, had  little  or  no  hope  of  her  life. 

Leonard  Copeland's  mood  was  sullen,  not  to 
say  surly.  He  submitted  to  the  chastisement 
without  a  word  or  cry,  for  blows  were  the  lot  of 
boys  of  all  ranks,  and  were  dealt  out  without 
much  respect  to  justice ;  and  he  also  had  to  endure 
a  sort  of  captivity,  in  a  dismal  little  circular  room 
in  a  turret  of  the  manorial  house,  with  merely  a 
narrow  loophole  to  look  out  from,  and  this  was 
only  accessible  by  climbing  up  a  steep  broken 
slope  of  brick-work  in  the  thickness  of  the 
wall. 

Here,  however,  he  was  visited  by  his  chief  friend 
and  comrade,  Edmund  Plantagenet  of  York,  who 
found  him  lying  on  the  floor,  building  up  frag- 
ments of  stone  and  mortar  into  the  plan  of  a  castle. 

'How  dost  thou,  Leonard?'  he  asked.  'Did 
old  Hal  strike  very  hard  ? ' 

'I  reck  not,'  growled  Leonard. 

'How  long  will  my  uncle  keep  thee  here?' 
asked  Edmund  sympathisingly. 


10  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

'Till  my  father  comes,  unless  the  foolish  wench 
should  go  and  die.  She  brought  it  on  me,  the 
peevish  girl.  She  is  always  after  me  when  I 
want  her  least. ' 

'  Yea,  is  not  she  contracted  to  thee  ? ' 

'So  they  say;  but  at  least  this  puts  a  stop  to 
my  being  plagued  with  her  —  do  what  they  may 
to  me.     There's  an  end  to  it,  if  I  hang  for  it.' 

'They  would  never  hang  thee.' 

'None  knows  what  you  traitor  folk  of  Nevil 
would  do  to  a  loyal  house, '  growled  Leonard. 

'Traitor,  saidst  thou,'  cried  Edmund,  clenching 
his  fists.  "Tis  thy  base  Somerset  crew  that  be 
the  traitors.' 

'I'll  brook  no  such  word  from  thee,'  burst  forth 
Leonard,  flying  at  him. 

'Ha!  ha!'  laughed  Edmund  even  as  they 
grappled.  'Who  is  the  traitor  forsooth?  Why, 
'tis  my  father  who  should  be  King.  'Tis  white- 
faced  Harry  and  his  Beauforts ' 

The  words  were  cut  short  by  a  blow  from  Leon- 
ard, and  the  warder  presently  found  the  two  boys 
rolling  on  the  floor  together  in  hot  contest. 

And  meanwhile  poor  Grisell  was  trying  to  frame 
with  her  torn  and  flayed  cheeks  and  lips,  '  O  lady, 
lady,  visit  it  not  on  him!  Let  not  Leonard  be 
punished.     It  was  my  fault  for  getting  into  his 


1  AN   EXPLOSION  11 

way  when  I  should  have  been  in  the  garden.     Dear 
Madge,  canst  thou  speak  for  him? ' 

Madge  was  Edmund's  sister,  Margaret  of  York, 
who  stood  trembling  and  crying  by  Grisell's 
bed. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  BROKEK  ItlATCH 

The  Earl  of  Salisbury,  called  Prudence. 

Contemporary  Poem. 

Little  Grisell  Dacre  did  not  die,  though  day 
after  day  she  lay  in  a  suffering  condition,  tenderly 
watched  over  by  the  Countess  Alice.  Her  mother 
had  been  summoned  from  attendance  on  the  Queen, 
but  at  first  there  only  was  returned  a  message 
that  if  the  maid  was  dead  she  should  be  embalmed 
and  sent  north  to  be  buried  in  the  family  vault, 
when  her  father  would  be  at  all  charges.  More- 
over, that  the  boy  should  be  called  to  account  for 
his  crime,  his  father  being,  as  the  Lady  of  Whit- 
burn caused  to  be  written,  an  evil-minded  minion 
and  fosterer  of  the  house  of  Somerset,  the  very 
bane  of  the  King  and  tlie  enemies  of  the  noble 
Duke  of  York  and  Earl  of  Warwick. 

The  story  will  be  clearer  if  it  is  understood  that 
the  Earl  of  Salisbury  was  Richard  Nevil,  one  of 
the  large  family  of  Nevil  of  Raby  Castle  in  West- 
moreland, and  had  obtained  his  title  by  marriage 

12 


CHAP.  II  THE   BROKEN  MATCH  13 

with  Alice  Montagu,  heiress  of  that  earldom. 
His  youngest  sister  had  married  Richard  Plantag- 
enet,  Duke  of  York,  who  being  descended  from 
Lionel,  Duke  of  Clarence,  was  considered  to  have 
a  better  right  to  the  throne  than  the  house  of  Lan- 
caster, though  this  had  never  been  put  forward 
since  the  earlier  years  of  Henry  V. 

Salisbury  had  several  sons.  The  eldest  had 
married  Anne  Beauchamp,  and  was  in  her  right 
Earl  of  Warwick,  and  had  estates  larger  even  than 
those  of  his  father.  He  had  not,  however,  as  yet 
come  forward,  and  the  disputes  at  Court  were 
running  high  between  the  friends  of  the  Duke  of 
Somerset  and  those  of  the  Duke  of  York. 

The  King  and  Queen  both  were  known  to  prefer 
the  house  of  Somerset,  who  were  the  more  nearly 
related  to  Henry,  and  the  more  inclined  to  uphold 
royalty,  while  York  was  considered  as  the  champion 
of  the  people.  The  gentle  King  and  the  Beauforts 
wished  for  peace  with  France;  the  nation,  and 
with  them  York,  thought  this  was  giving  up  hon- 
our, land,  and  plunder,  and  suspected  the  Queen, 
as  a  Frenchwoman,  of  truckling  to  the  enemy. 
Jack  Cade's  rising  and  the  murder  of  the  Duke  of 
Suffolk  had  been  the  outcome  of  this  feeling.  In- 
deed, Lord  Salisbury's  messenger  reported  the 
country  about  London  to  be  in  so  disturbed  a  state 


14  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

that  it  was  no  wonder  that  the  Lady  of  Whitburn 
did  not  make  the  journey.  She  was  not,  as  the 
Countess  suspected,  a  very  tender  mother.  Gri- 
sell's  moans  were  far  more  frequently  for  her  nurse 
than  for  her,  but  after  some  space  they  ceased. 
The  child  became  capable  of  opening  first  one  eye, 
then  the  other,  and  both  barber  and  lady  perceived 
that  she  was  really  unscathed  in  any  vital  part, 
and  was  on  the  way  to  recovery,  though  appar- 
ently with  hopelessly  injured  features. 

Leonard  Copeland  had  already  been  released 
from  restraint,  and  allowed  to  resume  his  usual 
place  among  the  Earl's  pages;  when  the  warder 
announced  that  he  saw  two  parties  approaching 
from  opposite  sides  of  the  down,  one  as  if  from 
Salisbury,  the  other  from  the  north ;  and  presently 
he  reported  that  the  former  wore  the  family  badge, 
a  white  rosette,  the  latter  none  at  all,  whence  it 
was  perceived  that  the  latter  were  adherents  of  the 
Beauforts  of  Somerset,  for  though  the  'Rose  of 
Snow  '  had  been  already  adopted  by  York,  Somer- 
set had  in  point  of  fact  not  plucked  the  Red  Rose 
in  the  Temple  gardens,  nor  was  it  as  yet  the  badge 
of  Lancaster. 

Presently  it  was  further  reported  that  the  Lady 
of  Whitburn  was  in  the  fore  front  of  the  party,  and 
the  Lord  of  Salisbury  hastened  to  receive  her  at 


II  THE   BROKEN  MATCH  16 

the  gates,  his  suite  being  rapidly  put  into  some 
order; 

She  was  a  tall,  rugged-faced  North  Country 
dame,  not  very  smooth  of  speech,  and  she  returned 
his  salute  with  somewhat  rough  courtesy,  demand- 
ing as  she  sprang  off  her  horse  with  little  aid. 
'Lives  my  wench  still? ' 

'Yes,  madam,  she  lives,  and  the  leech  trusts 
that  she  will  yet  be  healed.' 

'Ah!  Methought  you  would  have  sent  to  me  if 
aught  further  had  befallen  her.  Be  that  as  it  may, 
no  doubt  you  have  given  the  malapert  boy  his 
deserts. ' 

'I  hope  I  have,  madam,'  began  the  Earl.  'I 
kept  him  in  close  ward  while  she  was  in  peril  of 

death,  but '     A  fresh  bugle  blast  interrupted 

him,  as  there  clattered  through  the  resounding 
gate  the  other  troop,  at  sight  of  whom  the  Lady 
of  Whitburn  drew  herself  up,  redoubling  her  grim 
dignity,  and  turning  it  into  indignation  as  a  young 
page  rushed  forward  to  meet  the  newcomers,  with 
aery  of 'Father!  Lord  Father,  come  at  last;'  then 
composing  himself,  doffed  his  cap  and  held  the 
stirrup,  then  bent  a  knee  for  his  father's  blessing. 

'You  told  me.  Lord  Earl,  the  mischievous,  mur- 
derous fellowr  was  in  safe  hold,'  said  the  lady, 
bending  her  dark  brows. 


16  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

'While  the  maid  was  in  peril, '  hastily  answered 
Salisbury.  'Pardon  me,  madam,  my  Countess 
will  attend  you.' 

The  Countess's  high  rank  and  great  power  were 
impressive  to  the  Baroness  of  Whitburn,  who 
bent  in  salutation,  but  almost  her  first  words 
were,  'Madam,  you  at  least  will  not  let  the  mur- 
derous traitors  of  Somerset  and  the  Queen  prevail 
over  the  loyal  friends  of  York  and  the  nation. ' 

'There  is  happily  no  murder  in  the  case.  Praise 
be  to  the  saints,'  said  Countess  Alice,  'your  little 
maid ' 

'Aye,  that's  what  they  said  as  to  the  poor  good 
Duke  Humfrey,'  returned  the  irate  lady;  'but 
that  you,  madam,  the  good-sister  of  the  noble 
York,  should  stand  up  for  the  enemies  of  him, 
and  the  friends  of  France,  is  more  than  a  plain 
North  Country  woman  like  me  can  understand. 
And  there  —  there,  turning  round  upon  the  steep 
steps,  there  is  my  Lord  Earl  hand  and  glove  with 
that  minion  fellow  of  Somerset,  who  was  no  doubt 
at  the  bottom  of  the  plot!  None  would  believe 
it  at  Raby. ' 

'None  at  Raby  would  believe  that  my  lord  could 
be  lacking  in  courtesy  to  a  guest, '  returned  Lady 
Salisbury  with  dignity,  'nor  that  a  North  Country 
dame   could  expect  it   of  him.     Those  who   are 


II  THE  BROKEN  MATCH  17 

under  his  roof  must  respect  it  by  fitting  demeanour 
towards  one  another.' 

The  Lady  of  Whitburn  was  quenched  for  the 
time,  and  the  Countess  asked  whether  she  did  not 
wish  to  see  her  daughter,  leading  the  way  to  a 
chamber  hung  with  tapestry,  and  with  a  great 
curtained  bed  nearly  filling  it  up,  for  the  patient 
had  been  installed  in  one  of  the  best  guest- 
chambers  of  the  Castle.  Lady  Whitburn  was  sur- 
prised, but  was  too  proud  to  show  herself  gratified 
by  what  she  thought  was  the  due  of  the  dignity 
of  the  Dacres.  An  old  woman  in  a  hood  sat  by 
the  bed,  where  there  was  a  heap  of  clothes,  and 
a  dark-haired  little  girl  stood  by  the  window, 
whence  she  had  been  describing  the  arrivals  in  the 
Castle  court. 

'Here  is  your  mother,  my  poor  child,'  began  the 
Lady  of  Salisbury,  but  there  was  no  token  of  joy. 
Grisell  gave  a  little  gasp,  and  tried  to  say  'Lady 

Mother,  pardon '  but  the  Lady  of  Whitburn, 

at  sight  of  the  reddened  half  of  the  face  which 
alone  was  as  yet  visible,  gave  a  cry,  'She  will  be 
a  fright!  You  evil  little  baggage,  thus  to  get 
yourself  scarred  and  made  hideous!  Running 
where  you  ought  not,  I  warrant! '  and  she  put 
out  her  hand  as  if  to  shake  the  patient,  but  the 
Countess  interposed,  and  her  niece  Margaret  gave 


18  GRISLY  GKISELL  chap. 

a  little  cry.  'Grisell  is  still  very  weak  and  feeble ! 
She  cannot  bear  much;  we  have  only  just  by 
Heaven's  grace  brought  her  round.' 

'As  well  she  were  dead  as  like  this,'  cried  this 
untender  parent.  'Who  is  to  find  her  a  husband 
now  ?  and  as  to  a  nunnery,  where  is  one  to  take 
her  without  a  dower  such  as  is  hard  to  find,  with 
two  sons  to  be  fitly  provided  ?  I  looked  that  in  a 
household  like  this,  better  rule  should  be  kept. ' 

'None  can  mourn  it  more  than  myself  and  the 
Earl,'  said  the  gentle  Countess;  'but  young  folks 
can  scarce  be  watched  hour  by  hour. ' 

'The  rod  is  all  that  is  good  for  them,  and  I 
trusted  to  you  to  give  it  them,  madam, '  said  Lady 
Whitburn.  'Now,  the  least  that  can  be  done  is 
to  force  yonder  malapert  lad  and  his  father  into 
keeping  his  contract  to  her,  since  he  has  spoilt  the 
market  for  any  other. ' 

'Is  he  contracted  to  her?  '  asked  the  Countess. 

'Not  fully;  but  as  you  know  yourself,  lady, 
your  lord,  and  the  King,  and  all  the  rest,  thought 
to  heal  the  breach  between  the  houses  by  planning 
a  contract  between  their  son  and  my  daughter. 
He  shall  keep  it  now,  at  his  peril.' 

Grisell  was  cowering  among  her  pillows,  and 
no  one  knew  how  much  she  heard  or  understood. 
The  Countess  was  glad  to  get  Lady  Whitburn  out 


11  THE   BROKEN  MATCH  10 

of  the  room,  but  both  she  and  her  Earl  had  a  very 
trying  evening,  in  trying  to  keep  the  peace  between 
the  two  parents.  Sir  William  Copeland  was  de- 
voted to  the  Somerset  family,  of  whom  he  held  his 
manor;  and  had  had  a  furious  quarrel  with  the 
Baron  of  Whitburn,  when  both  were  serving  in 
France. 

The  gentle  King  had  tried  to  bring  about  a 
reconciliation,  and  had  induced  the  two  fathers  to 
consent  to  a  contract  for  the  future  marriage  of 
Leonard,  Copeland's  second  son,  to  Grisell  Dacre, 
then  the  only  child  of  the  Lord  of  Whitburn.  He 
had  also  obtained  that  the  two  children  should  be 
bred  up  in  the  household  of  the  Earl  of  Salisbury, 
by  way  of  letting  them  grow  up  together.  On 
the  same  principle  the  Lady  of  Whitburn  had 
been  made  one  of  the  attendants  of  Queen  Marga- 
ret —  but  neither  arrangement  had  been  more  suc- 
cessful than  most  of  those  of  poor  King  Henry. 

Grisell  indeed  considered  Leonard  as  a  sort  of 
property  of  hers,  but  she  beset  him  in'  the  manner 
that  boys  are  apt  to  resent  from  younger  girls,  and 
when  he  was  thirteen,  and  she  ten  years  old,  there 
was  very  little  affection  on  his  side.  Moreover, 
the  birth  of  two  brothers  had  rendered  Grisell's 
hand  a  far  less  desirable  prize  in  the  eyes  of  the 
Copelands. 


20  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

To  attend  on  the  Court  was  penance  to  the 
North  Country  dame,  used  to  a  hardy  rough  life 
in  her  sea-side  tower,  with  absolute  rule,  and  no 
hand  over  her  save  her  husband's;  while  the 
young  and  outspoken  Queen,  bred  up  in  the  grace- 
ful, poetical  Court  of  Aix  or  Nancy,  looked  on 
her  as  no  better  than  a  barbarian,  and  if  she  did 
not  show  this  openly,  reporters  were  not  wanting 
to  tell  her  that  the  Queen  called  her  the  great 
northern  hag,  or  that  her  rugged  unwilling  curt- 
sey was  said  to  look  as  if  she  were  stooping  to 
draw  water  at  a  well.  Her  husband  had  kept  her 
in  some  restraint,  but  when  he  had  gone  to  Ire- 
land with  the  Duke  of  York,  offences  seemed  to 
multiply  upon  her.  The  last  had  been  that  when 
she  had  tripped  on  her  train,  dropped  the  salver 
wherewith  she  was  serving  the  Queen,  and  broken 
out  with  a  loud  'Lawk  a  daisy! '  all  the  ladies, 
and  Margaret  herself,  had  gone  into  fits  of  uncon- 
trollable laughter,  and  the  Queen  had  begged  her 
to  render  her  exclamation  into  good  French  for 
her  benefit. 

'Madam, '  she  had  exclaimed,  'if  a  plain  woman's 
plain  English  be  not  good  enough  for  you,  she 
can  have  no  call  here!'  And  without  further 
ceremony  she  had  flown  out  of  the  royal  presence. 

Margaret   of    Anjou,    naturally   offended,    and 


II  THE   BROKEN  MATCH  21 

never  politic,  had  sent  her  a  message,  that  her 
attendance  was  no  longer  required.  So  here  she 
was  going  out  of  her  way  to  make  a  casual  inquiry, 
from  the  Court  at  V/inchester,  whether  that  very 
unimportant  article,  her  only  daughter,  were  dead 
or  alive. 

The  Earl  absolutely  prohibited  all  conversation 
on  affairs  in  debate  during  the  supper  which  was 
spread  in  the  hall,  with  quite  as  much  state  as, 
and  even  greater  profusion  and  splendour,  than 
was  to  be  found  at  Windsor,  Winchester,  or  West- 
minster. All  the  high  born  sat  on  the  dais,  raised 
on  two  steps  with  gorgeous  tapestry  behind,  and 
a  canopy  overhead;  the  Earl  and  Countess  on 
chairs  in  the  centre  of  the  long  narrow  table. 
Lady  Whitburn  sat  beside  the  Earl,  Sir  William 
Copeland  by  the  Countess,  watching  with  pleasure 
how  deftly  his  son  ran  about  among  the  pages, 
carrying  the  trenchers  of  food,  and  the  cups.  He 
entered  on  a  conversation  with  the  Countess,  tell- 
ing her  of  the  King's  interest  and  delight  in  his 
beautiful  freshly-founded  Colleges  at  Eton  and 
Cambridge,  how  the  King  rode  down  whenever  he 
could  to  see  the  boys,  listen  to  them  at  their  tasks 
in  the  cloisters,  watch  them  at  their  sports  in  the 
playing  fields,  and  join  in  their  devotions  in  the 
Chapel  —  a  most  holy  example  for  them. 


22  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

'Ay,  for  such  as  seek  to  be  monks  and  shavel- 
ings,' broke  in  the  North  Country  voice  sarcas- 
tically. 

'There  are  others — sons  of  gentlemen  and 
esquires  —  lodged  in  houses  around, '  said  Sir 
William,  'who  are  not  meant  for  cowl  or  for 
mass-priests. ' 

'Yea,  forsooth,'  called  Lady  Whitburn  across 
the  Earl  and  the  Countess,  '  what  for  but  to  make 
them  as  feckless  as  the  priests,  unfit  to  handle 
lance  or  sword ! ' 

'So,  ladj^,  you  think  that  the  same  hand  cannot 
wield  pen  and  lance, '  said  the  Earl. 

'I  should  like  to  see  one  of  your  clerks  on  a 
Border  foray,'  laughed  the  Dame  of  Dacre.  "Tis 
all  a  device  of  the  Frenchwoman ! ' 

'Verily?'  said  the  Earl,  in  an  interrogative 
tone. 

'Ay,  to  take  away  the  strength  and  might  of 
Englishmen  with  this  clerkly  lore,  so  that  her 
folk  may  have  the  better  of  them  in  France;  and 
the  poor,  witless  King  gives  in  to  her.  And  so 
while  the  Beauforts  rule  the  roast ' 

Salisbury  caught  her  up.  'Ay,  the  roast.  Will 
you  partake  of  these  roast  partridges,  madam  ?  ' 

They  were  brought  round  skewered  on  a  long 
spit,  held  by  a  page  for  the  guest  to  help  herself. 


II  THE   BROKEN   MATCH  23 

Whether  by  her  awkwardness  or  that  of  the  boy, 
it  so  chanced  that  the  bird  made  a  sudden  leap 
from  the  impalement,  and  deposited  itself  in  the 
lap  of  Lady  Whitburn's  scarlet  kirtle!  The  fact 
was  proclaimed  by  her  loud  rude  cry,  'A  murrain 
on  thee,  thou  ne'er-do-weel  lad,'  together  with  a 
sounding  box  on  the  ear. 

"Tis  thine  own  greed,  who  dost  not ' 

'Leonard,  be  still  —  know  thy  manners,'  cried 
both  at  once  the  Earl  and  Sir  William,  for,  un- 
fortunately, the  offender  was  no  other  than  Leon- 
ard Copeland,  and,  contrary  to  all  the  laws  of 
pagedom,  he  was  too  angry  not  to  argue  the  point. 
"Twas  no  doing  of  mine!  She  knew  not  how 
to  cut  the  bird. ' 

Answering  again  was  a  far  greater  fault  than 
the  first,  and  his  father  only  treated  it  as  his  just 
desert  when  he  was  ordered  off  under  the  squire 
in  charge  to  be  soundly  scourged,  all  the  more 
sharply  for  his  continuing  to  mutter,  'It  was  her 
fault.' 

And  sore  and  furrowed  as  was  his  back,  he  con- 
tinued to  exclaim,  when  his  friend  Edmund  of 
York  came  to  condole  with  him  as  usual  in  all  his 
scrapes,  "Tis  she  that  should  have  been  scourged 
for  clumsiness!  A  foul,  uncouth  Border  dame! 
Well,  one  blessing  at  least  is  that  now  I   shall 


24  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

never  be  wedded  to  her  daughter  —  let  the  wench 
live  or  die  as  she  lists ! '   ~ 

That  was  not  by  any  means  the  opinion  of  the 
Lady  of  Whitburn,  and  no  sooner  was  the  meal 
ended  than,  in  the  midst  of  the  hall,  the  debate 
began,  the  Lady  declaring  that  in  all  honour  Sir 
William  Copeland  was  bound  to  affiance  his  son 
instantly  to  her  poor  daughter,  all  the  more  since 
the  injuries  he  had  inflicted  to  her  face  could  never 
be  done  away  with.  On  the  other  hand.  Sir 
William  Copeland  was  naturally  far  less  likely  to 
accept  such  a  daughter-in-law,  since  her  chances 
of  being  an  heiress  had  ceased,  and  he  contended 
that  he  had  never  absolutely  accepted  the  contract, 
and  that  there  had  been  no  betrothal  of  the  chil- 
dren. 

The  Earl  of  Salisbury  could  not  but  think  that 
a  strictly  honourable  man  would  have  felt  poor 
Grisell's  disaster  inflicted  by  his  son's  hands  all 
the  more  reason  for  holding  to  the  former  under- 
standing; but  the  loud  clamours  and  rude  lan- 
guage of  Lady  Whitburn  were  enough  to  set  any 
one  in  opposition  to  her,  and  moreover,  the  words 
he  said  in  favour  of  her  side  of  the  question  ap- 
peared to  Copeland  merely  spoken  out  of  the  gen- 
eral enmity  of  the  Nevils  to  the  Beauforts  and  all 
their  following. 


11  THE   BROKEN   MATCH  25 

Thus,  all  the  evening  Lady  Whitburn  raged, 
and  appealed  to  the  Earl,  whose  support  she 
thought  cool  and  unfriendly,  while  Copeland 
stood  sullen  and  silent,  but  determined. 

'My  lord,'  she  said,  'were  you  a  true  friend  to 
York  and  Raby,  you  would  deal  with  this  scowl- 
ing fellow  as  we  should  on  the  Border.' 

'We  are  not  on  the  Border,  madam,'  quietly 
said  Salisbury. 

'But  you  are  in  your  own  Castle,  and  can 
force  him  to  keep  faith.  No  contract,  forsooth!  I 
hate  3^our  mincing  South  Country  forms  of  law.' 
Then  perhaps  irritated  by  a  little  ironical  smile 
which  Salisbury  could  not  suppress.  'Is  this 
your  castle,  or  is  it  not  ?  Then  bring  him  and  his 
lad  to  my  poor  wench's  side,  and  see  their  troth 
plighted,  or  lay  him  by  the  heels  in  the  lowest  cell 
in  your  dungeon.  Then  will  you  do  good  service 
to  the  King  and  the  Duke  of  York,  whom  you  talk 
of  loving  in  your  shilly-shally  fashion. ' 

'Madam,'  said  the  Earl,  his  grave  tones  coming 
in  contrast  to  the  shrill  notes  of  the  angry  woman, 
'I  counsel  you,  in  the  south  at  least,  to  have  some 
respect  to  these  same  forms  of  law.  I  bid  you  a 
fair  good-night.  The  chamberlain  will  marshal 
you.' 


CHAPTER   III 

THE   MIRROR 

*  Of  all  the  maids,  the  foulest  maid 
From  Teviot  unto  Dee. 
Ah ! '  sighing  said  that  lady  then, 
'Can  ne'er  young  Harden's  be.' 

Scott,  The  Reiver's  Wedding. 

'They  are  gone,'  said  Margaret  of  York,  stand- 
ing half  dressed  at  the  deep-set  window  of  the 
chamber  where  Grisell  lay  in  state  in  her  big  bed. 

'  Who  are  gone  ? '  asked  Grisell,  turning  as  well 
as  she  could  under  the  great  heraldically-embroi- 
dered  covering. 

'Leonard  Copeland  and  his  father.  Did'st  not 
hear  the  horses'  tramp  in  the  court? ' 

'I  thought  it  was  only  my  lord's  horses  going  to 
the  water.' 

'It  was  the  Copelands  going  off  without  break- 
ing their  fast  or  taking  a  stirrup  cup,  like  discour- 
teous rogues  as  they  be,'  said  Margaret,  in  no 
measured  language. 

26 


CHAP.  Ill  THE   MIRROR  27 

'And  are  they  gone?  And  wherefore?'  asked 
Grisell. 

'Wherefore?  but  for  fear  my  noble  uncle  of 
Salisbury  should  hold  them  to  their  contract. 
Sir  William  sat  as  surly  as  a  bear  just  about  to  be 
baited,  while  thy  mother  rated  and  raved  at  him 
like  a  very  sleuth-hound  on  the  chase.  And 
Leonard  —  what  think'st  thou  he  saith?  "That 
he  would  as  soon  wed  the  loathly  lady  as  thee," 
the  cruel  Somerset  villain  as  he  is ;  and  yet  my 
brother  Edmund  is  fain  to  love  him.  So  off  they 
are  gone,  like  recreant  curs  as  they  are,  lest  my 
uncle  should  make  them  hear  reason.' 

'But  Lady  Madge,  dear  Lady  Madge,  am  I  so 
very  loathly  ?  '  asked  poor  Grisell. 

'Mine  aunt  of  Salisbury  bade  that  none  should 
tell  thee, '  responded  Margaret,  in  some  confusion. 

'Ah  me!  I  must  know  sooner  or  later!  My 
mother,  she  shrieked  at  sight  of  me ! ' 

'I  would  not  have  your  mother,'  said  the  out- 
spoken daughter  of  'proud  Cis.'  'My  Lady  Duch- 
ess mother  is  stern  enough  if  we  do  not  bridle  our 
heads,  and  if  we  make  ourselves  too  friendly  with 
the  meind,  but  she  never  frets  nor  rates  us,  and 
does  not  heed  so  long  as  we  do  not  demean  our- 
selves unlike  our  royal  blood.  She  is  no  terma- 
gant like  yours. ' 


28  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

It  was  not  polite,  but  Grisell  had  not  seen 
enough  of  her  mother  to  be  very  sensitive  on  her 
account.  In  fact,  she  was  chiefly  occupied  with 
what  she  had  heard  about  her  own  appearance  — 
a  matter  which  had  not  occurred  to  her  before  in 
all  her  suffering.  She  returned  again  to  entreat 
Margaret  to  tell  her  whether  she  was  so  foully  ill- 
favoured  that  no  one  could  look  at  her,  and  the 
young  damsel  of  York,  adhering  to  the  letter  rather 
than  the  spirit  of  the  cautions  which  she  had  re- 
ceived, pursed  up  her  lips  and  reiterated  that  she 
had  been  commanded  not  to  mention  the  subject. 

'Then,'  entreated  Grisell,  'do  —  do,  dear  Madge 
—  only  bring  me  the  little  hand  mirror  out  of  my 
Lady  Countess's  chamber.' 

'I  know  not  that  I  can  or  may.' 

'Only  for  the  space  of  one  Ave,'  reiterated 
Grisell. 

'My  lady  aunt  would  never ' 

' There  —  hark  —  there's  the  bell  for  mass.  Thou 
canst  run  into  her  chamber  when  she  and  the  tire- 
women are  gone  down.' 

'But  I  must  be  there.' 

'Thou  canst  catch  them  up  after.  They  will 
only  think  thee  a  slug-a-bed.  Madge,  dear  Madge, 
prithee,  I  cannot  rest  without.  Weeping  will  be 
worse  for  me. ' 


Ill  THE   MIRROR  29 

She  was  crying,  and  caressing  Margaret  so  ve- 
hemently that  she  gained  her  point.  Indeed  the 
other  girl  was  afraid  of  her  sobs  being  heard,  and 
inquired  into,  and  therefore  promised  to  make  the 
attempt,  keeping  a  watch  out  of  sight  till  she  had 
seen  the  Lady  of  Salisbury  in  her  padded  head- 
gear of  gold  net,  and  long  purple  train,  sweep 
down  the  stair,  followed  by  her  tirewomen  and 
maidens  of  every  degree.  Then  darting  into  the 
chamber,  she  bore  away  from  a  stage  where  lay  the 
articles  of  the  toilette,  a  little  silver-backed  and 
handled  Venetian  mirror,  with  beautiful  tracery 
in  silvered  glass  diminishing  the  very  small  oval 
left  for  personal  reflection  and  inspection.  That, 
however,  was  quite  enough  and  too  much  for  poor 
Grisell  when  Lady  Margaret  had  thrown  it  to 
her  on  her  bed,  and  rushed  down  the  stair  so  as  to 
come  in  the  rear  of  the  household  just  in  time. 

A  glance  at  the  mirror  disclosed,  not  the  fair 
rosy  face,  set  in  light  yellow  curls,  that  Grisell 
had  now  and  then  peeped  at  in  a  bucket  of  water 
or  a  polished  breast-plate,  but  a  piteous  sight. 
One  half,  as  she  expected,  was  hidden  by  bandages, 
but  the  other  was  fiery  red,  except  that  from  the 
corner  of  the  eye  to  the  ear  there  was  a  purple 
scar;  the  upper  lip  was  distorted,  the  hair,  eye- 
brows, and  lashes  were  all  gone !     The  poor  child 


30  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

was  found  in  an  agony  of  sobbing  when,  after  the 
service,  the  old  woman  who  acted  as  her  nurse 
came  stumping  up  in  her  wooden  clogs  to  set  the 
chamber  and  bed  in  order  for  Lady  Whitburn's 
visit. 

The  dame  was  in  hot  haste  to  get  home.  Ru- 
mours were  rife  as  to  Scottish  invasions,  and  her 
tower  was  not  too  far  south  not  to  need  to  be  on 
its  guard.  Her  plan  was  to  pack  Grisell  on  a 
small  litter  slung  to  a  sumpter  mule,  and  she 
snorted  a  kind  of  defiant  contempt  when  the  Coun- 
tess, backed  by  the  household  barber-surgeon, 
declared  the  proceeding  barbarous  and  impossible. 
Indeed  she  had  probably  forgotten  that  Grisell  was 
far  too  tall  to  be  made  up  into  the  bundle  she 
intended;  but  she  then  declared  that  the  wench 
might  ride  pillion  behind  old  Diccon,  and  she 
would  not  be  convinced  till  she  was  taken  up  to 
the  sick  chamber.  There  the  first  sound  that 
greeted  them  was  a  choking  agony  of  sobs  and 
moans,  while  the  tirewoman  stood  over  the  bed, 
exclaiming,  'Aye,  no  wonder;  it  serves  thee  right, 
thou  evil  wench,  filching  my  Lady  Countess's 
mirror  from  her  very  chamber,  when  it  might  have 
been  broken  for  all  thanks  to  thee.  The  Venice 
glass  that  the  merchant  gave  her!  Thou  art  not 
so  fair  a  sight,  I  trow,  as  to  be  in  haste  to  see 


Ill  THE   MIRROR  31 

thyself.  At  the  bottom  of  all  the  scathe  in  the 
Castle!     We  shall  be  well  rid  of  thee.' 

So  loud  was  the  objurgation  of  the  tirewoman 
that  she  did  not  hear  the  approach  of  her  mistress, 
nor  indeed  the  first  words  of  the  Countess,  'Hush, 
Maudlin,  the  poor  child  is  not  to  be  thus  rated ! 
Silence!' 

'See,  my  lady,  what  she  has  done  to  your  lady- 
ship's Venice  glass,  which  she  never  should  have 
touched.  She  must  have  run  to  your  chamber 
while  you  were  at  mass.  All  false  her  feigning 
to  be  so  sick  and  feeble. ' 

'Ay,'  replied  Lady  Whitburn,  'she  must  up  — 
don  her  clothes,  and  away  with  me. ' 

'Hush,  I  pray  you,  madam.  How,  how,  Gri- 
sell,  my  poor  child.  Call  Master  Miles,  Maudlin ! 
Give  me  that  water. '  The  Countess  was  raising 
the  poor  child  in  her  arms,  and  against  her  bosom, 
for  the  shock  of  that  glance  in  the  mirror,  followed 
by  the  maid's  harsh  reproaches,  and  fright  at  the 
arrival  of  the  two  ladies,  had  brought  on  a  chok- 
ing, hysterical  sort  of  convulsive  fit,  and  the  poor 
girl  writhed  and  gasped  on  Lady  Salisbury's  breast, 
while  her  mother  exclaimed,  'Heed  her  not.  Lady; 
it  is  all  put  on  to  hinder  me  from  taking  her 
home.     If  she  could  go  stealing  to  your  room ' 

'No,  no,'  broke  out  a  weeping,  frightened  voice. 


32  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

'It  was  I,  Lady  Aunt.  You  bade  me  never  tell 
her  how  her  poor  face  looked,  and  when  she  begged 
and  prayed  me,  I  did  not  say,  but  I  fetched  the 
mirror.  Oh!  oh!  It  has  not  been  the  death  of 
her.' 

'Nay,  nay,  by  God's  blessing!  Take  away  the 
glass,  Margaret.  Go  and  tell  thy  beads,  child; 
thou  hast  done  much  scathe  unwittingly!  Ah, 
Master  Miles,  come  to  the  poor  maid's  aid.  Canst 
do  aught  for  her  ?  ' 

'These  humours  must  be  drawn  off,  my  lady,' 
said  the  barber-surgeon,  who  advanced  to  the  bed, 
and  felt  the  pulse  of  the  poor  little  patient.  'I 
must  let  her  blood. ' 

Maudlin,  whose  charge  she  was,  came  to  his 
help,  and  Countess  Alice  still  held  her  up,  while, 
after  the  practice  of  those  days,  he  bled  the  already 
almost  unconscious  child,  till  she  fainted  and  was 
laid  down  again  on  her  pillows,  under  the  keeping 
of  Maudlin,  while  the  clanging  of  the  great  bell 
called  the  family  down  to  the  meal  which  broke 
fast,  whether  to  be  called  breakfast  or  dinner. 

It  was  plain  that  Grisell  was  in  no  state  to  be 
taken  on  a  journey,  and  her  mother  went  grum- 
bling down  the  stair  at  the  unchancy  bairn  always 
doing  scathe. 

Lord    Salisbury,   beside  whom    she    sat,    cour- 


Ill  THE   MIRROR  33 

teously,  though  perhaps  hardly  willingly,  invited 
her  to  remain  till  her  daughter  was  ready  to 
move. 

'Nay,  my  Lord,  I  am  beholden  to  you,  but  I 
may  scarce  do  that.  I  be  sorely  needed  at  Whit- 
burn Tower.  The  knaves  go  all  agee  when  both 
my  lord  and  myself  have  our  backs  turned,  and 
my  lad  bairns  —  worth  a  dozen  of  yon  whining 
maid  —  should  no  longer  be  left  to  old  Cuthbert 
Ridley  and  Nurse.  Now  the  Queen  and  Somer- 
set have  their  waj^  'tis  all  misrule,  and  who  knows 
what  the  Scots  may  do  ?  ' 

*  There  are  Nevils  and  Dacres  enough  between 
Whitburn  and  the  Border,'  observed  the  Earl 
gravely.  However,  the  visitor  was  not  such  an 
agreeable  one  as  to  make  him  anxious  to  press  her 
stay  beyond  what  hospitality  demanded,  and  his 
wife  could  not  bear  to  think  of  giving  over  her 
poor  little  patient  to  such  usage  as  she  would  have 
met  with  on  the  journey. 

Lady  Whitburn  was  overheard  saying  that  those 
who  had  mauled  the  maid  might  mend  her,  if  they 
could;  and  accordingly  she  acquiesced,  not  too 
graciously,  when  the  Countess  promised  to  tend 
the  child  like  her  own,  and  send  her  by  and  by 
to  Whitburn  under  a  safe  escort;  and  as  Middle- 
ham  Castle  lay  on  the  way  to  Whitburn,  it  was 


34  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

likely  that  means  would  be  found  of  bringing  or 
sending  her. 

This  settled,  Lady  Whitburn  was  restless  to 
depart,  so  as  to  reach  a  hostel  before  night. 

She  donned  her  camlet  cloak  and  hood,  and 
looked  once  more  in  upon  Grisell,  who  after  her 
loss  of  blood,  had,  on  reviving,  been  made  to 
swallow  a  draught  of  which  an  infusion  of  poppy 
heads  formed  a  great  part,  so  that  she  lay,  breath- 
ing heavily,  in  a  deep  sleep,  moaning  now  and 
then.  Her  mother  did  not  scruple  to  try  to  rouse 
her  with  calls  of  '  Grizzy !  Look  up,  wench !  '  but 
could  elicit  nothing  but  a  half  turn  on  the  pillow, 
and  a  little  louder  moan,  and  Master  Miles,  who 
was  still  watching,  absolutely  refused  to  let  his 
patient  be  touched  or  shaken. 

'Well  a  day! '  said  Lady  Whitburn,  softened 
for  a  moment,  'what  the  Saints  will  must  be,  I 
trow;  but  it  is  hard,  and  I  shall  let  St.  Cuthbert 
of  Durham  know  it,  that  after  all  the  candles  I 
have  given  him,  he  should  have  let  my  poor  maid 
be  so  mauled  and  marred,  and  then  forsaken  by 
the  rascal  who  did  it,  so  that  she  will  never  be 
aught  but  a  dead  weight  on  my  two  fair  sons! 
The  least  he  can  do  for  me  now  is  to  give  me  my 
revenge  upon  that  lurdane  runaway  knight  and 
his  son.  But  he  hath  no  care  for  lassies.  May- 
hap St.  Hilda  may  serve  me  better. ' 


Ill  THE  MIRROR  35 

Wherewith  the  Lady  of  Whitburn  tramped 
down  stairs.  It  may  be  feared  that  in  the  igno- 
rance in  Avhich  northern  valleys  were  left  she  was 
very  little  more  enlightened  in  her  ideas  of  what 
would  please  the  Saints,  or  what  they  could  do  for 
her,  than  were  the  old  heathen  of  some  unknown 
antiquity  who  used  to  worship  in  the  m3^sterious 
circles  of  stones  which  lay  on  the  downs  of  Ames- 
bury. 


CHAPTER  IV 

PARTING 

There  in  the  holy  house  at  Almesbury 
Weeping,  none  with  her  save  a  little  maid. 

Tennyson,  Idylls  of  the  King. 

The  agitations  of  that  day  had  made  Grisell  so 
much  worse  that  her  mind  hardly  awoke  again  to 
anything  but  present  suffering  from  fever,  and  in 
consequence  the  aggravation  of  the  wounds  on  her 
neck  and  cheek.  She  used  to  moan  now  and  then 
'Don't  take  me  away! '  or  cower  in  terror,  'She  is 
coming! '  being  her  cry,  or  sometimes  'So  foul  and 
loathly.'  She  hung  again  between  life  and  death, 
and  most  of  those  around  thought  death  would  be 
far  better  for  the  poor  child,  but  the  Countess  and 
the  Chaplain  still  held  to  the  faith  that  she  must 
be  reserved  for  some  great  purpose  if  she  survived 
so  much. 

Great  families  with  all  their  train  used  to  move 
from  one  castle  or  manor  to  another  so  soon  as 
they  had  eaten  up  all  the  produce  of  one  place, 
and  the  time  had  come  when  the  Nevils  must  per- 

36 


CHAP.  IV  PAKTING  37 

force  quit  Amesbury.  Grisell  was  in  no  state  for 
a  long  journey ;  she  was  exceedingly  weak,  and  as 
fast  as  one  wound  in  her  face  and  neck  healed 
another  began  to  break  out,  so  that  often  she  could 
hardly  eat,  and  whether  she  would  ever  have  the 
use  of  her  left  eye  was  doubtful. 

Master  Miles  was  at  his  wits'  end,  Maudlin  was 
weary  of  waiting  on  her,  and  so  in  truth  was  every 
one  except  the  good  Countess,  and  she  could  not 
always  be  with  the  sufferer,  nor  could  she  carry 
such  a  patient  to  London,  whither  her  lord  was 
summoned  to  support  his  brother-in-law,  the  Duke 
of  York,  against  the  Duke  of  Somerset. 

The  only  delay  was  caused  by  the  having  to  re- 
ceive the  newly-appointed  Bishop,  Richard  Beau- 
champ,  who  had  been  translated  from  his  former 
see  at  Hereford  on  the  murder  of  his  predecessor, 
William  Ayscough,  by  some  of  Jack  Cade's  party. 

In  full  splendour  he  came,  with  a  train  of  chap- 
lains and  cross-bearers,  and  the  clergy  of  Salisbury 
sent  a  deputation  to  meet  him,  and  to  arrange  with 
him  for  his  reception  and  installation.  It  was 
then  that  the  Countess  heard  that  there  was  a  nun 
at  Wilton  Abbey  so  skilled  in  the  treatment  of 
wounds  and  sores  that  she  was  thought  to  work 
miracles,  being  likewise  a  very  holy  woman. 

The  Earl  and  Countess  would  accompany  the 


38  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

new  bishop  to  be  present  at  his  enthronement  and 
the  ensuing  banquet,  and  the  lady  made  this  an 
opportunity  of  riding  to  the  convent  on  her  way 
back,  consulting  the  Abbess,  whom  she  had  long 
known,  and  likewise  seeing  Sister  Avice,  and 
requesting  that  her  poor  little  guest  might  be 
received  and  treated  there. 

There  was  no  chance  of  a  refusal,  for  the  great 
nobles  were  sovereigns  in  their  own  domains ;  the 
Countess  owned  half  Wiltshire,  and  was  much 
loved  and  honoured  in  all  the  religious  houses 
for  her  devotion  and  beneficence. 

The  nuns  were  only  too  happy  to  undertake  to 
receive  the  demoiselle  Grisell  Dacre  of  Whitburn, 
or  any  other  whom  my  Lady  Countess  would 
entrust  to  them,  and  the  Abbess  had  no  doubt 
that  Sister  Avice  could  effect  a  cure. 

Lady  Salisbury  dreaded  that  Grisell  should  lie 
awake  all  night  crying,  so  she  said  nothing  till 
her  Avhirlicote,  as  the  carriage  of  those  days  was 
called,  was  actually  being  prepared,  and  then  she 
went  to  the  chamber  where  the  poor  child  had 
spent  five  months,  and  where  she  was  now  sitting 
dressed,  but  propped  up  on  a  sort  of  settle,  and 
with  half  her  face  still  bandaged. 

'My  little  maid,  this  is  well, '  said  the  Countess. 
'Come  with  me.     I  am  going  to  take  thee  to  a  kind 


IV  PARTING  39 

and  holy  dame  who  will,  I  trust,  with  the  bless- 
ing of  Heaven,  be  able  to  heal  thee  better  than  we 
have  done. ' 

'Oh,  lady,  lady,  do  not  send  me  away!'  cried 
Grisell;  'not  from  you  and  Madge.' 

'My  child,  I  must  do  so;  I  am  going  away  my- 
self, with  my  lord,  and  Madge  is  to  go  back  with 
her  brother  to  her  father  the  Duke.  Thou  couldst 
not  brook  the  journey,  and  I  will  take  thee  myself 
to  the  good  Sister  Avice. ' 

'A  nun,  a  nunnery,'  sighed  Grisell.  'Oh!  I 
shall  be  mewed  up  there  and  never  come  forth 
again!  Do  not,  I  pray,  do  not,  good  my  lad}^, 
send  me  thither ! ' 

Perhaps  my  lady  thought  that  to  remain  for  life 
in  a  convent  might  be  the  fate,  and  perhaps  the 
happiest,  of  the  poor  blighted  girl,  but  she  only 
told  her  that  there  was  no  reason  she  should  not 
leave  Wilton,  as  she  was  not  put  there  to  take 
the  vows,  but  only  to  be  cured. 

Long  nursing  had  made  Grisell  unreasonable, 
and  she  cried  as  much  as  she  dared  over  the  order ; 
but  no  child  ventured  to  make  much  resistance  to 
elders  in  those  days,  and  especially  not  to  the 
Countess,  so  Grisell,  a  very  poor  little  wasted 
being,  was  carried  down,  and  only  delayed  in  the 
hall  for  an  affectionate  kiss  from  Margaret  of  York. 


40  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

'And  here  is  a  keepsake,  Grisell,'  she  said. 
'Mine  own  beauteous  pouncet  box,  with  the  for- 
get-me-nots in  turquoises  round  each  little  hole! ' 

'I  will  keep  it  for  ever,'  said  Grisell,  and  they 
parted,  but  not  as  girls  part  who  hope  to  meet 
again,  and  can  write  letters  constantly,  but  with 
tearful  eyes  and  clinging  hands,  as  little  like  to 
meet  again,  or  even  to  hear  more  of  one  another. 

The  whirlicote  was  not  much  better  than  an 
ornamental  waggon,  and  Lady  Salisbury,  with  the 
Mother  of  the  Maids,  did  their  best  to  lessen  the 
force  of  the  jolts  as  by  six  stout  horses  it  was 
dragged  over  the  chalk  road  over  the  downs,  pass- 
ing the  wonderful  stones  of  Amesbury  —  a  wider 
circle  than  even  Stonehenge,  though  without  the 
triliths,  i.e,  the  stones  laid  one  over  the  tops  of 
the  other  two  like  a  doorway.  Grisell  heard  some- 
thing murmured  about  Merlin  and  Arthur  and 
Guinevere,  but  she  did  hot  heed,  and  she  was 
quite  worn  out  with  fatigue  by  the  time  they 
reached  the  descent  into  the  long  smooth  valley 
where  Wilton  Abbey  stood,  and  the  spire  of  the 
Cathedral. could  be  seen  rising  tall  and  beautiful. 

The  convent  lay  low,  among  meadows  all  shut 
in  with  fine  elm  trees,  and  the  cows  belonging 
to  the  sisters  were  being  driven  home,  their  bells 
tinkling.     There   was   an   outer   court,   with   an 


IV  PARTING  41 

arched  gate  kept  by  a  stout  porter,  and  thus  far 
came  the  whirlicote  and  the  Countess's  attendants ; 
but  a  lay  porteress,  in  a  cap  and  veil  and  black 
dress,  came  out  to  receive  her  as  the  door  of  the 
carriage  was  opened,  and  held  out  her  arms  to 
receive  the  muffled  figure  of  the  little  visitor. 
'Ah,  poor  maid,'  she  said,  'but  Sister  A  vice  will 
soon  heal  her. ' 

At  the  deeply  ornamented  round  archway  of 
the  inner  gate  to  the  cloistered  court  stood  the 
Lady  Abbess,  at  the  head  of  all  her  sisters,  drawn 
up  in  double  line  to  receive  the  Countess,  whom 
they  took  to  their  refectory  and  to  their  chapel. 

Of  this,  however,  Grisell  saw  nothing,  for  she 
had  been  taken  into  the  arms  of  a  tall  nun  in  a 
black  veil.  At  first  she  shuddered  and  would 
have  screamed  if  she  had  been  a  little  stronger 
and  less  tired,  for  illness  and  weakness  had  brought 
back  the  babyish  horror  of  anything  black;  but 
she  felt  soothed  by  the  sweet  voice  and  tender 
words,  'Poor  little  one-!  she  is  fore  spent.  She 
shall  lie  down  on  a  soft  bed,  and  have  some  sweet 
milk  anon.' 

Still  a  deadly  feeling  of  faintness  came  upon 
her  before  she  had  been  carried  to  the  little  bed 
which  had  been  made  ready  for  her.  When  she 
opened  her  eyes,  while  a  spoon  was  held  to  her 


42  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

lips,  the  first  thing  she  saw  was  the  sweetest, 
calmest,  most  motherly  of  faces  bent  over  her,  one 
arm  round  her,  the  other  giving  her  the  spoon  of 
some  cordial.  She  looked  up  and  even  smiled, 
though  it  was  a  sad  contorted  smile,  which  brought 
a  tear  into  the  good  sister's  eyes ;  but  then  she  fell 
asleep,  and  only  half  awoke  when  the  Countess 
came  up  to  see  her  for  the  last  time,  and  bade  her 
farewell  with  a  kiss  on  her  forehead,  and  a  charge 
to  Sister  Avice  to  watch  her  well,  and  be  tender 
with  her.  Indeed  no  one  could  look  at  Sister 
Avice 's  gentle  face  and  think  there  was  much 
need  of  the  charge. 

Sister  Avice  was  one  of  the  women  who  seem 
to  be  especially  born  for  the  gentlest  tasks  of 
womanhood.  She  might  have  been  an  excellent 
wife  and  mother,  but  from  the  very  hour  of  her 
birth  she  had  been  vowed  to  be  a  nun  in  gratitude 
on  her  mother's  part  for  her  father's  safety  at 
Agincourt.  She  had  been  placed  at  Wilton  when 
almost  a  baby,  and  had  never  gone  farther  from 
it  than  on  very  rare  occasions  to  the  Cathedral  at 
Salisbury;  but  she  had  grown  up  with  a  wonder- 
ful instinct  for  nursing  and  healing,  and  had  a 
curious  insight  into  the  properties  of  herbs,  as 
well  as  a  soft  deft  hand  and  touch,  so  that  for 
some  years  she  had  been  sister   infirmarer,   and 


It  PARTING  43 

moreover  the  sick  were  often  brought  to  the  gates 
for  her  counsel,  treatment,  or,  as  some  believed, 
even  her  healing  touch. 

When  Grisell  awoke  she  was  alone  in  the  long, 
large,  low  room,  which  was  really  built  over  the 
Norman  cloister.  The  walls  were  of  pale  creamy 
stone,  but  at  the  end  where  she  lay  there  were 
hangings  of  faded  tapestry.  At  one  end  there 
was  a  window,  through  the  thick  glass  of  which 
could  be  dimly  seen,  as  Grisell  raised  herself  a 
little,  beautiful  trees,  and  the  splendid  spire  of 
the  Cathedral  rising,  as  she  dreamily  thought, 
like  a  finger  pointing  upwards.  Nearer  were  sev- 
eral more  narrow  windows  along  the  side  of  the 
room,  and  that  beside  her  bed  had  the  lattice  open, 
so  that  she  saw  a  sloping  green  bank,  with  a  river 
at  the  foot;  and  there  was  a  trim  garden  between. 
Opposite  to  her  there  seemed  to  be  another  window 
with  a  curtain  drawn  across  it,  through  which 
came  what  perhaps  had  wakened  her,  a  low,  clear, 
murmuring  tone,  pausing  and  broken  by  the  full, 
sweet,  if  rather  shrill  response  in  women's  voices. 
Beneath  that  window  was  a  little  altar,  with  a 
crucifix  and  two  candlesticks,  a  holy-water  stoup 
by  the  side,  and  there  was  above  the  little  deep 
window  a  carving  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  with  the 
Holy  Child,  on  either  side  a  niche,  one  with  a  fig- 


44  GRISLY   GKISELL  cha-p. 

ure  of  a  nun  holding  a  taper,  the  other  of  a  bishop 
with  a  book. 

Grisell  might  have  begun  crying  again  at  find- 
ing herself  alone,  but  the  sweet  chanting  lulled 
her,  and  she  lay  back  on  her  pillows,  half  dozing 
but  quite  content,  except  that  the  wound  on  her 
neck  felt  stiff  and  dry;  and  by  and  by  when  the 
chanting  ceased,  the  kind  nun,  with  a  lay  sister,^ 
came  back  again  carrying  water  and  other  appli- 
ances, at  sight  of  which  Grisell  shuddered,  for 
Master  Miles  never  touched  her  without  putting 
her  to  pain. 

' Benedicite,  my  little  maid,  thou  art  awake,'  said 
Sister  Avice.  'I  thought  thou  wouldst  sleep  till 
the  vespers  were  ended.  Now  let  us  dress  these 
sad  wounds  of  thine,  and  thou  shalt  sleep  again. ' 

Grisell  submitted,  as  she  knew  she  must,  but 
to  her  surprise  Sister  Avice 's  touch  was  as  soft 
and  soothing  as  Avere  her  words,  and  the  ointment 
she  applied  was  fragrant  and  delicious  and  did 
not  burn  or  hurt  her. 

She  looked  up  gratefully,  and  murmured  her 
thanks,  and  then  the  evening  meal  was  brought 
in,  and  she  sat  up  to  partake  of  it  on  the  seat  of 
the  window  looking  out  on  the  Cathedral  spire. 
It  was  a  milk  posset  far  more  nicely  flavoured  than 
what  she  had  been  used  to  at  Amesbury,  where, 


IV  PARTING  45 

in  spite  of  the  Countess's  kindness,  the  master 
cook  had  grown  tired  of  any  special  service  for 
the  Dacre  wench ;  and  unless  Margaret  of  York 
secured  fruit  for  her,  she  was  apt  to  be  regaled 
with  only  the  scraps  that  Maudlin  managed  to 
cater  for  her  after  the  meals  were  over. 

After  that,  Sister  Avice  gently  undressed  her, 
took  care  that  she  said  her  praj^ers,  and  sat  by  her 
till  she  fell  asleep,  herself  telling  her  that  she 
should  sleep  beside  her,  and  that  she  would  hear 
the  voices  of  the  sisters  singing  in  the  chapel  their 
matins  and  lauds.  Grisell  did  hear  them,  as  in  a 
dream,  but  she  had  not  slept  so  well  since  her 
disaster  as  she  slept  on  that  night. 


CHAPTER  V 

SISTER   AYICE 

Love,  to  her  ear,  was  but  a  name 
Combined  with  vanity  and  shame ; 
Her  hopes,  her  fears,  her  joys,  were  all 
Bounded  within  the  cloister  wall. 

Scott,  Marmion. 

Sister  Ayice  sat  in  the  infirmary,  diligently 
picking  the  leaves  off  a  large  mass  of  wood-sorrel 
which  had  been  brought  to  her  by  the  children 
around,  to  make  therewith  a  conserve. 

Grisell  lay  on  her  couch.  She  had  been  dressed, 
and  had  knelt  at  the  window,  where  the  curtain 
was  drawn  back  while  mass  was  said  by  the  Chap- 
lain, the  nuns  kneeling  in  their  order  and  making 
their  responses.  It  was  a  low-browed  chapel  of 
Norman  or  even  older  days,  with  circular  arches 
and  heavy  round  piers,  and  so  dark  that  the  gleam 
of  the  candles  was  needed  to  light  it. 

Grisell  watched,  till  tired  with  kneeling  she 
went  back  to  her  couch,  slept  a  little,  and  then 
wondered  to  see  Sister  Avice  still  compounding 
her  simples. 

46 


CHAP.  V  SISTER  AVICE  47 

She  moved  wearily,  and  sighed  for  Madge  to 
come  in  and  tell  her  all  the  news  of  Amesbury  — 
who  was  riding  at  the  ring,  or  who  had  shot  the 
best  bolt,  or  who  had  had  her  work  picked  out 
as  not  neat  or  well  shaded  enough. 

Sister  A  vice  came  and  shook  up  her  pillow,  and 
gave  her  a  dried  plum  and  a  little  milk,  and  began 
to  talk  to  her. 

'  You  will  soon  be  better,'  she  said,  'and  then 
you  will  be  able  to  play  in  the  garden.' 

'  Is  there  any  playfellow  for  me  ?  '  asked  Grisell. 

'There  is  a  little  maid  from  Bemerton,  who  comes 
daily  to  learn  her  hornbook  and  her  sampler. 
Mayhap  she  will  stay  and  play  with  you.' 

'I  had  Madge  at  Amesbury;  I  shall  love  no  one 
as  well  as  Madge !     See  what  she  gave  me. ' 

Grisell  displayed  her  pouncet  box,  which  was 
duly  admired,  and  then  she  asked  wearily  whether 
she  should  always  have  to  stay  in  the  convent. 

'Oh  no,  not  of  need,'  said  the  sister.  '  Many  a 
maiden  who  has  been  here  for  a  time  has  gone  out 
into  the  world,  but  some  love  this  home  the  best, 
as  I  have  done.' 

'Did  yonder  nun  on  the  wall? '  asked  Grisell. 

'Yea,  truly.  She  was  bred  here,  and  never  left 
it,  though  she  was  a  King's  daughter.  Edith 
was  her  name,  and  two  days  after  Holy  Cross  day 


48  GKISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

we  shall  keep  her  feast.  Shall  I  tell  you  her 
story  ? ' 

.'Prithee,  prithee!'  exclaimed  Grisell.  'I  love 
a  tale  dearly. ' 

Sister  Avice  told  the  legend,  how  St.  Edith 
grew  in  love  and  tenderness  at  Wilton,  and  how 
she  loved  the  gliding  river  and  the  flowers  in  the 
garden,  and  how  all  loved  her,  her  young  play- 
mates especially.  She  promised  one  who  went 
away  to  be  wedded  that  she  would  be  godmother 
to  her  first  little  daughter,  but  ere  the  daughter 
was  born  the  saintly  Edith  had  died.  The  babe 
was  carried  to  be  christened  in  the  font  at  Win- 
chester Cathedral,  and  by  a  great  and  holy  man, 
no  other  than  Alphegius,  who  was  then  Bishop  of 
Winchester,  but  was  made  Archbishop  of  Canter- 
bury, and  died  a  holy  martyr. 

'Then,'  said  Sister  Avice,  'there  was  a  great 
marvel,  for  among  the  sponsors  around  the  square 
black  font  there  stood  another  figure  in  the  dress 
of  our  Mother  Abbess,  and  as  the  Bishop  spake 
and  said,  "  Bear  this  taper,  in  token  that  thy  lamp 
shall  be  alight  when  the  Bridegroom  cometh,"  the 
form  held  the  torch,  shining  bright,  clear,  and  like 
no  candle  or  light  on  earth  ever  shone,  and  the 
face  was  the  face  of  the  holy  Edith.  It  is  even 
said  that  she  held  the  babe,  but  that  I  know  not, 


V  SISTER  AVICE  49 

being  a  spirit  without  a  body,  but  she  spake  the 
name,  her  own  name  Edith.  And  when  the  holy 
rite  was  over,  she  had  vanished  away. ' 

'And  that  is  she,  with  the  lamp  in  her  hand? 
Oh,  I  should  have  been  afraid ! '  cried  Grisell. 

'Not  of  the  holy  soul? '  said  the  sister. 

'Oh!  I  hope  she  will  never  come  in  here,  by 
the  little  window  into  the  church,'  cried  Grisell 
trembling. 

Indeed,  for  some  time,  in  spite  of  all  Sister 
Avice  could  say,  Grisell  could  not  at  night  be  free 
from  the  fear  of  a  visit  from  St.  Edith,  who,  as 
she  was  told,  slept  her  long  sleep  in  the  church 
below.  It  may  be  feared  that  one  chief  reliance 
was  on  the  fact  that  she  could  not  be  holy  enough 
for  a  vision  of  the  Saint,  but  this  was  not  so  val- 
uable to  her  as  the  touch  of  Sister  Avice 's  kind 
hand,  or  the  very  knowing  her  present. 

That  story  was  the  prelude  to  many  more. 
Grisell  wanted  to  hear  it  over  again,  and  then 
who  was  the  Archbishop  martyr,  and  Avho  were 
the  Virgins  in  memory  of  whom  the  lamps  were 
carried.  Both  these,  and  many  another  history, 
parable,  or  legend  were  told  her  by  Sister  Avice, 
training  her  soul,  throughout  the  long  recovery, 
which  was  still  very  slow,  but  was  becoming  more 
confirmed  every  day.     Grisell  could  use  her  eye, 


60  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

turn  her  head,  and  the  wounds  closed  healthily 
under  the  sister's  treatment  without  showing 
symptoms  of  breaking  out  afresh ;  and  she  grew  in 
strength  likewise,  first  taking  a  walk  in  the  trim 
garden  and  orchard,  and  by  and  by  being  pro- 
nounced able  to  join  the  other  girl  scholars  of  the 
convent.  Only  here  was  the  first  demur.  Her 
looks  did  not  recover  with  her  health.  She  re- 
mained with  a  much-seamed  neck,  and  a  terrible 
scar  across  each  cheek,  on  one  side  purple,  and 
her  eyebrows  were  entirely  gone. 

She  seemed  to  have  forgotten  the  matter  while 
she  was  entirely  in  the  infirmary,  with  no  compan- 
ion but  Sister  Avice,  and  occasionally  a  lay  sister, 
who  came  to  help;  but  the  first  time  she  went 
down  the  turret  stair  into  the  cloister  —  a  beauti- 
ful succession  of  arches  round  a  green  court  —  she 
met  a  novice  and  a  girl  about  her  own  age ;  the 
elder  gave  a  little  scream  at  the  sight  and  ran 
away. 

The  other  hung  back.  'Mary,  come  hither,' 
said  Sister  Avice.  'This  is  Grisell  Dacre,  who 
hath  suffered  so  much.  Wilt  thou  not  come  and 
kiss  and  welcome  her?  ' 

Mary  came  forward  rather  reluctantly,  but 
Grisell  drew  up  her  head  with,  'Oh,  if  you  had 
liefer  not ! '  and  turned  her  back  on  the  girl. 


V  SISTER  AVICE  61 

Sister  Avice  followed  as  Grisell  walked  away 
as  fast  as  her  weakness  allowed,  and  found  her 
sitting  breathless  at  the  third  step  on  the  stairs. 

'Oh,  no  — go  away  —  don't  bring  her.  Every 
one  will  hate  me, '  sobbed  the  poor  child. 

Avice  could  only  gather  her  into  her  arms, 
though  embraces  were  against  the  strict  rule  of 
Benedictine  nuns,  and  soothe  and  coax  her  to 
believe  that  by  one  at  least  she  was  not  hated. 

'I  had  forgotten,'  said  Grisell.  'I  saw  myself 
once  at  Amesbury !  but  my  face  was  not  well  then. 
Let  me  see  again,  sister!     Where's  a  mirror?  ' 

'Ah!  my  child,  we  nuns  are  not  allowed  the 
use  of  worldly  things  like  mirrors ;  I  never  saw 
one  in  my  life.' 

'But  oh,  for  pity's  sake,  tell  me  what  like  am 
I.     Am  I  so  loathly?' 

'Nay,  my  dear  maid,  I  love  thee  too  well  to 
think  of  aught  save  that  thou  art  mine  own  little 
one,  given  back  to  us  by  the  will  of  Heaven. 
Aye,  and  so  will  others  think  of  thee,  if  thou  art 
good  and  loving  to  them. ' 

'Nay,  nay,  none  will  ever  love  me!  All  will 
hate  and  flee  from  me,  as  from  a  basilisk  or  cocka- 
trice, or  the  Loathly  Worm  of  Spindlesheugh, ' 
sobbed  Grisell. 

'Then,  my  maid,  thou  must  win  them  back  by 


62  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

thy  sweet  words  and  kind  deeds.  They  are  better 
than  looks.  And  here  too  they  shall  soon  think 
only  of  what  thou  art,  not  of  what  thou  look'st. ' 

'But  know  you,  sister,  how  —  how  I  should 
have  been  married  to  Leonard  Copeland,  the  very 
youth  that  did  me  this  despite,  and  he  is  fair  and 
beauteous  as  a  very  angel,  and  I  did  love  him  so, 
and  now  he  and  his  father  rid  away  from  Ames- 
bury,  and  left  me  because  I  am  so  foul  to  see,' 
cried  Grisell,  between  her  sobs. 
.  'If  they  could  treat  thee  thus  despiteously,  he 
^ould  surely  not  have  made  thee  a  good  husband, ' 
reasoned  the  sister. 

'But  I  shall  never  have  a  husband  now,'  wailed 
Grisell. 

'Belike  not,'  saidi5ister  Avice;  'but,  my  sweet- 
heart, there  is  better  peace  and  rest  and  cheer  in 
such  a  home  as  this  holy  house,  than  in  the  toils 
and  labours  of  the  world.  When  my  sisters  at 
Dunbridge  and  Dinton  come  to  see  me  they  look 
old  and  careworn,  and  are  full  of  tales  of  the  tur- 
moil and  trouble  of  husbands,  and  sons,  and  dues, 
and  tenants'  fees,  and  villeins,  and  I  know  not 
what,  that  I  often  think  that  even  in  this  world's 
sense  I  am  the  best  off.  And  far  above  and  be- 
yond that,'  she  added,  in  a  low  voice,  'the  virgin 
hath  a  hope,  a  Spouse  beyond  all  human  thought. ' 


V  SISTEE  AVICE  63 

Gi'isell  did  not  understand  the  thought,  and 
still  wept  bitterly.  'Must  she  be  a  nun  all  her 
life  ? '  was  all  she  thought  of,  and  the  shady  clois- 
ter seemed  to  her  like  a  sort  of  prison.  Sister 
A  vice  had  to  soothe  and  comfort  her,  till  her  tears 
were  all  spent,  as  so  often  before,  and  she  had 
cried  herself  so  ill  that  she  had  to  be  taken  back 
to  her  bed  and  lie  down  again.  It  was  some  days 
before  she  could  be  coaxed  out  again  to  encounter 
any  companions. 

However,  as  time  went  on,  health,  and  with  it 
spirits  and  life,  came  back  to  Grisell  Dacre  at 
Wilton,  and  she  became  accustomed  to  being  with 
the  other  inmates  of  the  fine  old  convent,  as  they 
grew  too  much  used  to  her  appearance  to  be 
startled  or  even  to  think  about  it.  The  absence 
of  mirrors  prevented  it  from  ever  being  brought 
before  her,  and  Sister  Avice  set  herself  to  teach 
her  how  goodness,  sweetness,  and  kindness  could 
endear  any  countenance,  and  indeed  Grisell  saw 
for  herself  how  much  more  loved  was  the  old  and 
very  plain  Mother  Anne  than  the  very  beautiful 
young  Sister  Isabel,  who  had  been  forced  into  the 
convent  by  her  tyrannical  brother,  and  wore  out 
her  life  in  fretting  and  rudeness  to  all  who  came 
in  her  way.  She  declared  that  the  sight  of  Grisell 
made  her  ill,  and  insisted  that  the  veiled  hood 


54  GEISLY  GEISELL  chap. 

which  all  the  girls  wore  should  be  pulled  forward 
whenever  they  came  near  one  another,  and  that 
Grisell's  place  should  be  out  of  her  sight  in  chapel 
or  refectory. 

Every  one  else,  however,  was  very  kind  to  the 
poor  girl.  Sister  Avice  especially  so,  and  Grisell 
soon  forgot  her  disfigurement  when  she  ceased  to 
suffer  from  it.  She  had  begun  to  learn  reading, 
writing,  and  a  little  Latin,  besides  spinning, 
stitchery,  and  a  few  housewifely  arts,  in  the 
Countess  of  Salisbury's  household,  for  every  lady 
was  supposed  to  be  educated  in  these  arts,  and 
great  establishments  were  schools  for  the  damsels 
there  bred  up.  It  was  the  same  with  convent  life, 
and  each  nunnery  had  traditional  works  of  its 
own,  either  in  embroidery,  cookery,  or  medicine. 
Some  secrets  there  were  not  imparted  beyond  the 
professed  nuns,  and  only  to  the  more  trustworthy 
of  them,  so  that  each  sisterhood  might  have  its 
own  especial  glory  in  confections,  whether  in 
portrait-worked  vestments,  in  illuminations,  in 
sweetmeats,  or  in  salves  and  unguents;  but  the 
pensioners  were  instructed  in  all  those  common 
arts  of  bakery,  needlework,  notability,  and  surgery 
which  made  the  lady  of  a  castle  or  manor  so  im- 
portant, and  within  the  last  century  in  the  more 
fashionable  abbeys  Latin  of  a  sort,  French  'of  the 


V  SISTER   AVICE  55 

school  of  Stratford  le  Bowe,'  and  the  like,  were 
added.  Thus  Grisell  learnt  as  an  a2)t  scholar 
these  arts,  and  took  especial  delight  in  helping 
Sister  Avice  to  compound  her  simples,  and  ac- 
quired a  tender  hand  with  which  to  apply  them. 

Moreover,  she  learnt  not  only  to  say  and  sing 
her  Breviary,  but  to  know  the  signification  in 
English.  There  were  translations  of  the  Lord's 
Prayer  and  Creed  in  the  hands  of  all  careful  and 
thoughtful  people,  even  among  the  poor,  if  they 
had  a  good  parish  priest,  or  had  come  under  the 
influence  of  the  better  sort  of  friars.  In  convents 
where  discipline  was  kept  up  the  meaning  was 
carefully  taught,  and  there  were  English  primers 
in  the  hands  of  all  the  devout,  so  that  the  services 
could  be  intelligently  followed  even  by  those 
who  did  not  learn  Latin,  as  did  Grisell.  Selec- 
tions from  Scripture  history,  generally  clothed  in 
rhyme,  and  versified  lives  of  the  Saints,  were  read 
aloud  at  meal-times  in  the  refectory,  and  Grisell 
became  so  good  a  reader  that  she  was  often  chosen 
to  chant  out  the  sacred  story,  and  her  sweet  north- 
ern voice  was  much  valued  in  the  singing  in  the 
church.  She  was  quite  at  home  there,  and  though 
too  young  to  be  admitted  as  a  novice,  she  wore  a 
black  dress  and  white  hood  like  theirs,  and  the 
annual  gifts  to  the  nunnery  from  the  Countess  of 


56  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap,  v 

Salisbury  were  held  to  entitle  her  to  the  residence 
there  as  a  pensioner.  She  had  fully  accepted 
the  idea  of  spending  her  life  there,  sheltered  from 
the  world,  among  the  kind  women  whom  she 
loved,  and  who  had  learnt  to  love  her,  and  in 
devotion  to  God,  and  works  of  mercy  to  the  sick. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE   PKOCTOR 

But  if  a  marines  soul  were  in  his  purse, 
For  in  his  purse  he  should  yfurnished  be. 

Chaucer,  Canterbury  Pilgrims. 

Five  years  had  passed  since  Grisell  had  been 
received  at  Wilton,  when  the  Abbess  died.  She 
had  been  infirm  and  confined  to  her  lodging  for 
many  months,  and  Grisell  had  hardly  seen  her, 
but  her  death  was  to  change  the  whole  tenor  of 
the  maiden's  life. 

The  funeral  ceremonies  took  place  in  full  state. 
The  Bishop  himself  came  to  attend  them,  and 
likewise  all  the  neighbouring  clergy,  and  the 
monks,  friars,  and  nuns,  overflowing  the  chapel, 
while  peasants  and  beggars  for  whom  there  was 
no  room  in  the  courts  encamped  outside  the  walls, 
to  receive  the  dole  and  pray  for  the  soul  of  the 
right  reverend  Mother  Abbess. 

For  nine  days  constant  services  were  kept  up, 
and  the  requiem  mass  was  daily  said,  the  dirges 
daily  sung,  and  the  alms  bestowed  on  the  crowd, 

57 


58  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

who  were  by  no  means  specially  sorrowful  or 
devout,  but  beguiled  the  time  by  watching  jon- 
gleurs  and  mountebanks  performing  beyond  the 
walls. 

There  was  the  'Month's  Mind  '  still  to  come, 
and  then  the  chapter  of  nuns  intended  to  proceed 
to  the  election  of  their  new  Abbess,  unanimously 
agreeing  that  she  should  be  their  present  Prioress, 
who  had  held  kindly  rule  over  them  through  the 
slow  to-decay  of  the  late  Abbess.  Before,  how- 
ever, this  could  be  done  a  messenger  arrived 
on  a  mule  bearing  an  inhibition  to  the  sisters 
to  proceed  in  the  election. 

His  Holiness  Pope  Calixtus  had  reserved  to 
himself  the  next  appointment  to  this  as  well  as  to 
certain  other  wealthy  abbeys. 

The  nuns  in  much  distress  appealed  to  the 
Bishop,  but  he  could  do  nothing  for  them.  Such 
reservations  had  been  constant  in  the  subservient 
days  that  followed  King  John's  homage,  and 
though  the  great  Edwards  had  struggled  against 
them,  and  the  yoke  had  been  shaken  off  during 
the  Great  Schism,  no  sooner  had  this  been  healed 
than  the  former  claims  were  revived,  nay,  re- 
doubled, and  the  pious  Henry  VI.  was  not  the 
man  to  resist  them.  The  sisters  therefore  waited 
in   suspense,  daring   only  meekly  to   recommend 


VI  THE    PROCTOR  69 

their  Prioress  in  a  humble  letter,  written  by  the 
Chaplain,  and  backed  by  a  recommendation  from 
Bishop  Beauchamp.  Both  alike  were  disregarded, 
as  all  had  expected. 

The  new  Abbess  thus  appointed  was  the  Madre 
Matilda  de  Borgia,  a  relation  of  Pope  Calixtus, 
very  noble,  and  of  Spanish  birth,  as  the  Commis- 
sioner assured  the  nuns ;  but  they  had  never  heard 
of  her  before,  and  were  not  at  all  gratified.  They 
had  always  elected  their  Abbess  before,  and  had 
quite  made  up  their  minds  as  to  the  choice  of  the 
present  Mother  Prioress  as  Abbess,  and  of  Sister 
A  vice  as  Prioress. 

However,  they  had  only  to  submit.  To  appeal 
to  the  King  or  to  their  Bishop  would  have  been 
quite  useless ;  they  could  only  do  as  the  Pope  com- 
manded, and  elect  the  Mother  Matilda,  consoling 
themselves  with  the  reflection  that  she  was  not 
likely  to  trouble  herself  about  them,  and  their  old 
Prioress  would  govern  them.  And  so  she  did  so 
far  as  regarded  the  discipline  of  the  house,  but 
what  they  had  not  so  entirely  understood  was  the 
Mother  de  Borgia's  desire  to  squeeze  all  she  could 
out  of  the  revenues  of  the  house. 

Her  Proctor  arrived,  a  little  pinched  man  in  a 
black  gown  and  square  cap,  and  desired  to  see  the 
Mother  Prioress  and  her  steward,  and  to  overlook 


60  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

the  income  and  expenditure  of  the  convent;  to 
know  who  had  duly  paid  her  dowry  to  the  nunnery, 
what  were  the  rents,  and  the  like.  The  sisters 
had  already  raised  a  considerable  gift  in  silver 
merks  to  be  sent  through  Lombard  merchants  to 
their  new  Abbess,  and  this  requisition  was  a  fresh 
blow. 

Presently  the  Proctor  marked  out  Grisell  Dacre, 
and  asked  on  what  terms  she  was  at  the  convent. 
It  was  explained  that  she  had  been  brought  thither 
for  her  cure  by  the  Lady  of  Salisbury,  and  had 
stayed  on,  without  fee  or  payment  from  her  own 
home  in  the  north,  but  the  ample  donations  of  the 
Earl  of  Salisbury  had  been  held  as  full  compensa- 
tion, and  it  had  been  contemplated  to  send  to  the 
maiden's  family  to  obtain  permission  to  enrol  her 
as  a  sister  after  her  novitiate  —  which  might  soon 
begin,  as  she  was  fifteen  years  old. 

The  Proctor,  however,  was  much  displeased. 
The  nuns .  had  no  right  to  receive  a  pensioner 
without  payment,  far  less  to  admit  a  novice  as  a 
sister  without  a  dowry. 

Mistress  Grisell  must  be  returned  instantly 
upon  the  hands  either  of  her  own  family  or  of  the 
Countess  of  Salisbury,  and  certainly  not  read- 
mitted unless  her  dowry  were  paid.  He  scarcely 
consented   to  give  time  for  communication  with 


VI  THE  PROCTOR  61 

the  Countess,  to  consider  how  to  dispose  of  the 
poor  child. 

The  Prioress  sent  messengers  to  Amesbury  and 
to  Christ  Church,  but  the  Earl  and  Countess  were 
not  there,  nor  was  it  clear  where  they  were  likely 
to  be.  Whitburn  was  too  far  off  to  send  to  in  the 
time  allowed  by  the  Proctor,  and  Grisell  had  heard 
nothing  from  her  home  all  the  time  she  had  been 
at  Wilton.  The  only  thing  that  the  Prioress 
could  devise,  was  to  request  the  Chaplain  to  seek 
her  out  at  Salisbury  a  trustworthy  escort,  pilgrim, 
merchant  or  other,  with  whom  Grisell  might  safely 
travel  to  London,  and  if  the  Earl  and  Countess 
were  not  there,  some  responsible  person  of  theirs, 
or  of  their  son's,  was  sure  to  be  found,  who  would 
send  the  maiden  on. 

The  Chaplain  mounted  his  mule  and  rode  over 
to  Salisbury,  whence  he  returned,  bringing  with 
him  news  of  a  merchant's  wife  who  was  about  to  go 
on  pilgrimage  to  fulfil  a  vow  at  Walsingham,  and 
would  feel  herself  honoured  by  acting  as  the  convoy 
of  the  Lady  Grisell  Dacre  as  far  at  least  as  London. 

There  was  no  further  hope  of  delay  or  failure. 
Poor  Grisell  must  be  cast  out  on  the  world  —  the 
Proctor  even  spoke  of  calling  the  Countess,  or  her 
steward,  to  account  for  her  maintenance  during 
these  five  years. 


62  GKISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

There  was  weeping  and  wailing  in  the  cloisters 
at  the  parting,  and  Grisell  clung  to  Sister  Avice, 
mourning  for  her  peaceful,  holy  life. 

'Nay,  my  child,  none  can  take  from  thee  a  holy 
life.' 

'If  I  make  a  vow  of  virginity  none  can  hinder 
me.' 

'That  was  not  what  I  meant.  No  maid  has  a 
right  to  take  such  a  vow  on  herself  without  con- 
sent of  her  father,  nor  is  it  binding  otherwise. 
No !  but  no  one  can  take  away  from  a  Christian 
maid  the  power  of  holiness.  Bear  that  for  ever  in 
mind,  sweetheart.  Naught  that  can  be  done  by 
man  or  by  devil  to  the  body  can  hurt  the  soul  that 
is  fixed  on  Christ  and  does  not  consent  to  evil.' 

'The  Saints  forefend  that  ever  —  ever  I  should 
consent  to  evil. ' 

'It  is  the  Blessed  Spirit  alone  who  can  guard 
thy  will,  my  child.  Will  and  soul  not  consenting 
nor  being  led  astray  thou  art  safe.  Nay,  the  lack 
of  a  fair-favoured  face  may  be  thy  guard. ' 

'All  will  hate  me.     Alack!  alack! ' 

'Not  so.  See,  thou  hast  won  love  amongst  us. 
Wherefore  shouldst  not  thou  in  like  manner  win 
love  among  thine  own  people  ? ' 

'My  mother  hates  me  already,  and  my  father 
heeds  me  not. ' 


VI  THE  PROCTOR  63 

'  Love  them,  child !  Do  them  good  offices !  None 
can  hinder  thee  from  that. ' 

'Can  I  love  those  who  love  not  me? ' 

'Yea,  little  one.  To  serve  and  tend  another 
brings  the  heart  to  love.  Even  as  thou  seest  a 
poor  dog  love  the  master  who  beats  him,  so  it  is 
with  us,  only  with  the  higher  Christian  love. 
Service  and  prayer  open  the  heart  to  love,  hoping 
for  nothing  again,  and  full  oft  that  which  was  not 
hoped  for  is  vouchsafed. ' 

That  was  the  comfort  with  which  Grisell  had 
to  start  from  her  home  of  peace,  conducted  by  the 
Chaplain,  and  even  the  Prioress,  who  would  her- 
self give  her  into  the  hands  of  the  good  Mistress 
Hall. 

Very  early  they  heard  mass  in  the  convent,  and 
then  rode  along  the  bank  of  the  river,  with  the 
downs  sloping  down  on  the  other  side,  and  the 
grand  spire  ever  seeming  as  it  were  taller  as  they 
came  nearer;  while  the  sound  of  the  bells  grew 
upon  them,  for  there  was  then  a  second  tower  be- 
yond to  hold  the  bells,  whose  reverberation  would 
have  been  dangerous  to  the  spire,  and  most  sweet 
was  their  chime,  the  sound  of  which  had  indeed 
often  reached  Wilton  in  favourable  winds ;  but  it 
sounded  like  a  sad  farewell  to  Grisell. 

The  Prioress  thought  she  ought  to  begin  her 


64  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

journey  by  kneeling  in  the  Cathedral,  so  they 
crossed  the  shaded  close  and  entered  by  the  west 
door  with  the  long  vista  of  clustered  columns  and 
pointed  arches  before  them. 

Low  sounds  of  mass  being  said  at  different  altars 
met  their  ears,  for  it  was  still  early  in  the  day. 
The  Prioress  passed  the  length  of  nave,  and  went 
beyond  the  choir  to  the  lady  chapel,  with  its  slen- 
der supporting  columns  and  exquisite  arches,  and 
there  she,  with  Grisell  by  her  side,  joined  in  ear- 
nest supplications  for  the  child. 

The  Chaplain  touched  her  as  she  rose,  and  made 
her  aware  that  the  dame  arrayed  in  a  scarlet  mantle 
and  hood  and  dark  riding-dress  was  Mistress 
Hall. 

Silence  was  not  observed  in  cathedrals  or 
churches,  especially  in  the  naves,  except  when 
any  sacred  rite  was  going  on,  and  no  sooner  was 
the  mass  finished  and  ^Ite  missa  est '  pronounced 
than  the  scarlet  cloak  rose,  and  hastened  into  the 
south  transept,  where  she  waited  for  the  Chaplain, 
Prioress,  and  Grisell.  No  introduction  seemed 
needed.  'The  Holy  Mother  Prioress,'  she  began, 
bending  her  knee  and  kissing  the  lady's  hand. 
'Much  honoured  am  I  by  the  charge  of  this  noble 
little  lady. '  Grisell  by  the  by  was  far  taller  than 
the  plump  little  goodwoman   Hall,  but  that  was 


VI  THE  PROCTOE  65 

no  matter,  and  the  Prioress  had  barely  space  to 
get  in  a  word  of  thanks  before  she  went  on:  'I 
will  keep  her  and  tend  her  as  the  apple  of  mine 
eye.  She  shall  pray  with  me  at  all  the  holy 
shrines  for  the  good  of  her  soul  and  mine.  She 
shall  be  my  bedfellow  wherever  we  halt,  and  sit 
next  me,  and  be  cherished  as  though  she  were 
mine  own  daughter  —  ladybird  as  she  is  —  till  I 
can  give  her  into  the  hands  of  the  good  Lady 
Countess.  Oh  yes  —  you  may  trust  Joan  Hall, 
dame  reverend  mother.  She  is  no  new  traveller. 
I  have  been  in  my  time  to  all  our  shrines  —  to  St. 
Thomas  of  Canterbury,  to  St.  Winifred's  Well, 
aye,  and,  moreover,  to  St.  James  of  Compostella, 
and  St.  Martha  of  Provence,  not  to  speak  of  lesser 
chantries  and  Saints.  Aye,  and  I  crossed  the  sea 
to  see  the  holy  coat  of  Treves,  and  St.  Ursula's 
eleven  thousand  skulls  —  and  a  gruesome  sight 
they  were.  Nay,  if  the  Lady  Countess  be  not  in 
London  it  would  cost  me  little  to  go  on  to  the 
north  with  her.  There's  St.  Andrew  of  Ely, 
Hugh,  great  St.  Hugh  and  little  St.  Hugh,  both 
of  them  at  Lincoln,  and  there's  St.  Wilfred  of 
York,  and  St.  John  of  Beverly,  not  to  speak  of  St. 
Cuthbert  of  Durham  and  of  St.  Hilda  of  Whitby, 
who  might  take  it  ill  if  I  pray  at  none  of  their 
altars,    when   I   have   been   to  so  many  of  their 


66  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

brethren.  Oh,  you  may  trust  me,  reverend  mother; 
I'll  never  have  the  young  lady,  bless  her  sweet 
face,  out  of  my  sight  till  I  have  safe  bestowed 
her  with  my  Lady  Countess,  our  good  customer 
for  all  manner  of  hardware,  or  else  with  her 
own  kin.' 

The  good  woman's  stream  of  conversation  lasted 
almost  without  drawing  breath  all  the  way  down 
the  nave.  It  was  a  most  good-humoured  hearty 
voice,  and  her  plump  figure  and  rosy  face  beamed 
with  good  nature,  while  her  bright  blaok  eyes  had 
a  lively  glance. 

The  Chaplain  had  inquired  about  her,  and 
found  that  she  was  one  of  the  good  women  to 
whom  pilgrimage  was  an  annual  dissipation,  con- 
secrated and  meritorious  as  they  fondly  believed, 
and  gratifying  their  desire  for  change  and  variety. 
She  was  a  kindly  person  of  good  reputation,  trust- 
worthy, and  kind  to  the  poor,  and  stout  John 
Hall,  her  husband,  could  manage  the  business 
alone,  and  was  thought  not  to  regret  a  little  re^ 
prieve  from  her  continual  tongue. 

She  wanted  the  Prioress  to  do  her  the  honour 
of  breaking  her  fast  with  her,  but  the  good  nun 
was  in  haste  to  return,  after  having  once  seen  her 
charge  in  safe  hands,  and  excused  herself,  while 
Grisell,  blessed  by  the  Chaplain,  and  hiding  her 


VI  THE  PROCTOR  67 

tears  under  her  veil,  was  led  away  to  the  substan- 
tial smith's  abode,  where  she  was  to  take  a  first 
meal  before  starting  on  her  journey  on  the  strong 
forest  pony  which  the  Chaplain's  care  had  pro- 
vided for  her. 


CHAPTER   VII 

THE  PILGKIM   OF   SALISBURY 

She  hadde  passed  many  a  strange  shrine, 
At  Rome  she  had  been  and  at  Boleine, 
At  Galice,  at  St.  James,  and  at  Coleine, 
She  could  moche  of  wandering  by  the  way. 

Chaucer,  Canterbury  Pilgrims. 

Geisell  found  herself  brought  into  a  hall 
where  a  stout  oak  table  occupied  the  centre, 
covered  with  home-spun  napery,  on  which  stood 
trenchers,  wooden  bowls,  pewter  and  a  few  silver 
cups,  and  several  large  pitchers  of  ale,  small  beer, 
or  milk.  A  pie  and  a  large  piece  of  bacon,  also 
a  loaf  of  barley  bread  and  a  smaller  wheaten  one, 
were  there. 

Shelves  all  round  the  walls  shone  with  pewter 
and  copper  dishes,  cups,  kettles,  and  vessels  a^id 
implements  of  all  household  varieties,  and  ranged 
round  the  floor  lay  ploughshares,  axes,  and  mat- 
tocks, all  polished  up.  The  ring  of  hammers  on 
the  anvil  was  heard  in  the  court  in  the  rear.  The 
front  of  the  hall  was  open  for  the  most  part,  with- 
out windows,  but  it  could  be  closed  at  night. 

68 


CHAP,  vn       THE   PILGRIM   OF   SALISBURY  69 

Breakfast  was  never  a  regular  meal,  and  the 
household  had  partaken  of  it,  so  that  there  was  no 
one  in  the  hall  excepting  Master  Hall,  a  stout, 
brawny,  grizzled  man,  with  a  good-humoured  face, 
and  his  son,  more  slim,  but  growing  into  his  like- 
ness, also  a  young  notable-looking  daughter-in- 
law  with  a  swaddled  baby  tucked  under  her 
arm. 

They  seated  Grisell  at  the  table,  and  implored 
her  to  eat.  The  wheaten  bread  and  the  fowl  were, 
it  seemed,  provided  in  her  honour,  and  she  could 
not  but  take  her  little  knife  from  the  sheath  in 
her  girdle,  turn  back  her  nun-like  veil,  and  pre- 
pare to  try  to  drive  back  her  sobs,  and  swallow 
the  milk  of  almonds  pressed  on  her. 

'Eh!'  cried  the  daughter-in-law  in  amaze. 
'She's  only  scarred  after  all.' 

'Well,  what  else  should  she  be,  bless  her  poor 
heart?  '  said  Mrs.  Hall  the  elder. 

'Why,  wasn't  it  thou  thyself,  good  mother,  that 
brought  home  word  that  they  had  the  pig-faced 
lady  at  Wilton  there  ? ' 

'Bless  thee,  Agnes,  thou  should'st  know  better 
than  to  lend  an  ear  to  all  the  idle  tales  thy  poor 
old  mother  may  hear  at  market  or  fair. ' 

'  Then  should  we  have  enough  to  do, '  muttered 
her  husband. 


70  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

'And  as  thou  seest,  'tis  a  sweet  little  face,  only 
cruelly  marred  by  the  evil  hap. ' 

Poor  Grisell  was  crimson  at  finding  all  eyes  on 
her,  an  ordeal  she  had  never  undergone  in  the  con- 
vent, and  she  hastily  pulled  forward  her  veil. 

'Nay  now,  my  sweet  young  lady,  take  not  the 
idle  words  in  ill  part,'  pleaded  the  good  hostess. 
'We  all  know  how  to  love  thee,  and  what  is  a 
smooth  skin  to  a  true  heart  ?  Take  a  bit  more  of 
the  pasty,  ladybird;  we'll  have  far  to  ride  ere  we 
get  to  Wherwell,  where  the  good  sisters  will  give 
us  a  meal  for  young  St.  Edward's  sake  and  thy 
Prioress's.  Aye  —  I  turn  out  of  my  way  for  that; 
I  never  yet  paid  my  devotion  to  poor  young  King 
Edward,  and  he  might  take  it  in  dudgeon,  being 
a  king,  and  his  shrine  so  near  at  hand. ' 

'Ha,  ha!'  laughed  the  smith;  'trust  my  dame 
for  being  on  the  right  side  of  the  account  with  the 
Saints.  Well  for  me  and  Jack  that  we  have  little 
Agnes  here  to  mind  the  things  on  earth  mean- 
while. Nay,  nay,  dame,  I  say  nought  to  hinder 
thee ;  I  know  too  well  what  it  means  when  spring 
comes,  and  thou  beginn'st  to  moan  and  tell  up  the 
tale  of  the  shrines  where  thou  hast  not  told  thy 
beads.' 

It  was  all  in  good  humour,  and  Master  Hall 
walked  out  to  the  city  gate  to  speed  his  gad-about 


VII  THE   PILGRIM   OF   SALISBURY  71 

or  pious  wife,  whichever  he  might  call  her,  on  her 
way,  apparently  quite  content  to  let  her  go  on  her 
pilgrimages  for  the  summer  quarter. 

She  rode  a  stout  mule,  and  was  attended  by 
two  sturdy  varlets  —  quite  sufficient  guards  for 
pilgrims,  who  were  not  supposed  to  carry  any  val- 
uables. Grisell  sadly  rode  her  pony,  keeping  her 
veil  well  over  her  face,  yearning  over  the  last  view 
of  the  beloved  spire,  thinking  of  Sister  A  vice 
ministering  to  her  poor,  and  with  a  very  definite 
fear  of  her  own  reception  in  the  world  and  dread 
of  her  welcome  at  home.  Yet  there  was  a  joy  in 
being  on  horseback  once  more,  for  her  who  had 
ridden  moorland  ponies  as  soon  as  she  could  walk. 

Goodwife  Hall  talked  on,  with  anecdotes  of 
every  hamlet  that  they  passed,  and  these  were  not 
very  many.  At  each  church  they  dismounted  and 
said  their  prayers,  and  if  there  were  a  hostel  near, 
they  let  their  animals  feed  the  while,  and  obtained 
some  refreshment  themselves.  England  was  not 
a  very  safe  place  for  travellers  just  then,  but  the 
cockle-shells  sewn  to  the  pilgrim's  hat  of  the 
dame,  and  to  that  of  one  of  her  attendants,  and 
the  tall  staff  and  wallet  each  carried,  were  pass- 
ports of  security.  Nothing  could  be  kinder  than 
Mistress  Hall  was  to  her  charge,  of  whom  she  was 
really  proud,  and  when  they  halted  for  the  night 


72  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

at  the  nunnery  of  Queen  Elfrida  at  Wherwell, 
she  took  care  to  explain  that  this  was  no  burgess's 
daughter  but  the  Lady  Grisell  Dacre  of  Whitburn, 
trusted  to  her  convoy,  and  thus  obtained  for  her 
quarters  in  the  guest-chamber  of  the  refectory 
instead  of  in  the  general  hospitium;  but  on  the 
whole  Grisell  had  rather  not  have  been  exposed  to 
the  shock  of  being  shown  to  strangers,  even  kindly 
ones,  for  even  if  they  did  not  exclaim,  some  one 
was  sure  to  start  and  whisper. 

After  another  halt  for  the  night  the  travellers 
reached  London,  and  learned  at  the  city  gate  that 
the  Earl  and  Countess  of  Salisbury  were  absent, 
but  that  their  eldest  son,  the  Earl  of  Warwick, 
was  keeping  court  at  Warwick  House. 

Thither  therefore  Mistress  Hall  resolved  to  con- 
duct Grisell.  The  way  lay  through  narrow  streets 
with  houses  overhanging  the  roadway,  but  the 
house  itself  was  like  a  separate  castle,  walled 
round,  enclosing  a  huge  space,  and  with  a  great 
arched  porter's  lodge,  where  various  men-at-arms 
lounged,  all  adorned  on  the  arm  of  their  red 
jackets  with  the  bear  and  ragged  staff. 

They  were  courteous,  however,  for '  the  Earl 
Richard  of  Warwick  insisted  on  civility  to  all 
comers,  and  they  respected  the  scallop-shell  on  the 
dame's  hat.     They  greeted  her  good-humouredly. 


VII  THE  PILGRIM  OF  SALISBURY  73 

'Ha,  good-day,  good  pilgrim  wife.  Art  bound 
for  St.  Paul's?  Here's  supper  to  the  fore  for  all 
comers! ' 

'Thanks,  sir  porter,  but  this  maid  is  of  other 
mould ;  she  is  the  Lady  Grisell  Dacre,  and  is  com- 
pany for  my  lord  and  my  lady. ' 

'Nay,  her  hood  and  veil  look  like  company  for 
the  Abbess.  Come  this  way,  dame,  and  we  will 
find  the  steward  to  marshal  her.' 

Grisell  had  rather  have  been  left  to  the  guardi- 
anship of  her  kind  old  friend,  but  she  was  obliged 
to  follow.  They  dismounted  in  a  fine  court  with 
cloister-like  buildings  round  it,  and  full  of  people 
of  all  kinds,  for  no  less  than  six  hundred  stout 
yeomen  wore  red  coats  and  the  bear  and  ragged 
staff.  Grisell  would  fain  have  clung  to  her  guide, 
but  she  was  not  allowed  to  do  so.  She  was  mar- 
shalled up  stone  steps  into  a  great  hall,  where 
ta,bles  were  being  laid,  covered  with  white  napery 
and  glittering  with  silver  and  pewter. 

The  seneschal  marched  before  her  all  the  length 
of  the  hall  to  where  there  was  a  large  fireplace 
with  a  burning  log,  summer  though  it  was,  and 
shut  off  by  handsome  tapestried  and  carved  screens 
sat  a  half  circle  of  ladies,  with  a  young-looking 
lady  in  a  velvet  fur-trimmed  surcoat  in  their 
midst.     A  tall  man  with  a  keen,  resolute  face,  in 


74  GRISLY   GRISELL  •  chap. 

long  robes  and  gold  belt  and  chain,  stood  by  her 
leaning  on  her  chair. 

The  seneschal  announced,  'Place,  place  for  the 
Lady  Grisell  Dacre  of  Whitburn, '  and  Grisell  bent 
low,  putting  back  as  much  of  her  veil  as  she  felt 
courtesy  absolutely  to  require.  The  lady  rose, 
the  knight  held  out  his  hand  to  raise  the  bending 
figure.  He  had  that  power  of  recollection  and 
recognition  which  is  so  great  an  element  in  popu- 
larity. 'The  Lady  Grisell  Dacre,'  he  said.  'She 
who  met  with  so  sad  a  disaster  when  she  was  one 
of  my  lady  mother's  household?' 

Grisell  glowing  all  over  signed  acquiescence, 
and  he  went  on,  'Welcome  to  my  poor  house, 
lady.     Let  me  present  you  to  my  wife. ' 

The  Countess  of  Warwick  was  a  pale,  somewhat 
inane  lady.  She  was  the  heiress  of  the  Beau- 
champs  and  De  Spensers  in  consequence  of  the 
recent  death  of  her  brother,  'the  King  of  the  Isle 
of  Wight '  —  and  through  her  inheritance  her 
husband  had  risen  to  his  great  power.  She  was 
delicate  and  feeble,  almost  apathetic,  and  she  fol- 
lowed her  husband's  lead,  and  received  her  guest 
with  fair  courtesy;  and  Grisell  ventured  in  a 
trembling  voice  to  explain  that  she  had  spent 
those  years  at  Wilton,  but  that  the  new  Abbess's 
Proctor  would  not  consent  to  her  remaining  there 


VII  THE   PILGRIM   OF  SALISBURY  75 

any  longer,  not  even  long  enough  to  send  to  her 
parents  or  to  the  Countess  of  Salisbury. 

'Poor  maiden!  Such  are  the  ways  of  his  Holi- 
ness where  the  King  is  not  man  enough  to  stand 
in  his  way,'  said  Warwick.  'So,  fair  maiden, 
if  you  will  honour  ray  house  for  a  few  days,  as 
my  lady's  guest,  I  will  send  you  north  in  more 
fitting  guise  than  with  this  white-smith  dame.' 

'She  hath  been  very  good  to  me,'  Grisell  ven- 
tured to  add  to  her  thanks.  "^ 

'She  shall  have  good  entertainment  here,'  said 
the  Earl  smiling.  'No  doubt  she  hath  already, 
as  Sarum  born.  See  that  Good  wife  Hall,  the 
white  smith's  wife,  and  her  following  have  the 
best  of  harbouring,'  he  added  to  his  silver-chained 
steward. 

'You  are  a  Dacre  of  Whitburn,'  he  added  to 
Grisell.  'Your  father  has  not  taken  sides  with 
Dacre  of  Gilsland  and  the  Percies. '  Then  seeing 
that  Grisell  knew  nothing  of  all  this,  he  laughed 
and  said,  'Little  convent  birds,  you  know  nought 
of  our  worldly  strifes.' 

In  fact,  Grisell  had  heard  nothing  from  her 
home  for  the  last  five  years,  which  was  the  less 
marvel  as  neither  her  father  nor  her  mother  could 
write  if  they  had  cared  to  do  so.  Nor  did  the 
convent  know   much  of   the   state   of   England, 


76  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

though  prayers  had  been  constantly  said  for  the 
King's  recovery,  and  of  late  there  had  been  thanks- 
givings for  the  birth  of  the  Prince  of  Wales;  but 
it  was  as  much  as  she  did  know  that  just  now  the 
Duke  of  York  was  governing,  for  the  poor  King 
seemed  as  senseless  as  a  stone,  and  the  Earl  of 
Salisbury  was  his  Chancellor.  Nevertheless  Salis- 
bury Avas  absent  in  the  north,  and  there  was  a 
quarrel  going  on  between  the  Nevils  and  the  Per- 
cies  which  Warwick  was  going  to  compose,  and 
thus  would  be  able  to  take  Grisell  so  far  in  his 
company. 

The  great  household  was  larger  than  even  what 
she  remembered  at  the  houses  of  the  Countess  of 
Salisbury  before  her  accident,  and,  fresh  from  the 
st'llness  of  the  convent  as  she  was,  the  noises 
were  amazing  to  her  when  all  sat  down  to  supper. 
Tables  were  laid  all  along  the  vast  hall.  She  was 
placed  at  the  upper  one  to  her  relief,  beside  an  old 
lady.  Dame  Gresford,  whom  she  remembered  to 
have  seen  at  Montacute  Castle  in  her  childhood, 
as  one  of  the  attendants  on  the  Countess.  She 
was  forced  to  put  back  her  veil,  and  she  saw  some 
of  the  young  knights  and  squires  staring  at  her, 
then  nudging  one  another  and  laughing. 

'Never  mind  them,  sweetheart,'  said  Dame 
Gresford  kindly;   'they  are  but  unmannerly  lur- 


VII  THE   PILGRIM   OF   SALISBURY  77 

danes,  and  the  Lord  Earl  would  make  them  know 
what  is  befitting  if  his  eye  fell  on  tliem. ' 

The  good  lady  must  have  had  a  hint  from  the 
authorities,  for  she  kept  Grisell  under  her  wing 
in  the  huge  household,  which  was  like  a  city  in 
itself.  There  was  a  knight  who  acted  as  steward, 
with  innumerable  knights,  squires,  and  pages 
under  him,  besides  the  six  hundred  red  jacketed 
yoemen,  and  servants  of  all  degrees,  in  the  im- 
mense court  of  the  buttery  and  kitchen,  as  indeed 
there  had  need  to  be,  for  six  oxen  were  daily 
cooked,  with  sheep  and  other  .meats  in  proportion, 
and  any  friend  or  acquaintance  of  any  one  in  this 
huge  establishment  might  come  in,  and  not  only 
eat  and  drink  his  fill,  but  carry  off  as  much  meat 
as  he  could  on  the  point  of  his  dagger. 

Goodwife  Hall,  as  coming  from  Salisbury, 
stayed  there  in  free  quarters,  while  she  made  the 
round  of  all  the  shrines  in  I^ondon,  and  she  was 
intensely  gratified  by  the  great  Earl  recollecting, 
or  appearing  to  recollect,  her  and  inquiring  after 
her  husband,  that  hearty  burgess,  whose  pewter 
was  so  lasting,  and  he  was  sure  was  still  in  use 
among  his  black  guard. 

When  she  saw  Grisell  on  finally  departing  for 
St.  Albans,  she  was  carrying  her  head  a  good  deal 
higher  on  the  strength  of  'my  Lord  Earl's  grace 


78  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

to  her.'  She  hoped  that  her  sweet  Lady  Grisell 
would  remain  here,  as  the  best  hap  she  could  have 
in  the  most  noble,  excellent,  and  open-handed' 
house  in  the  world!  Grisell's  own  wishes  were 
not  the  same,  for  the  great  household  was  very 
bewildering  —  a  strange  change  from  her  quietly- 
busy  convent.  The  Countess  was  quiet  enough, 
but  dull  and  sickly,  and  chiefly  occupied  by  her 
ailments.  She  seemed  to  be  always  thinking 
about  leeches,  wise  friars,  wonderful  nuns,  or 
even  wizards  and  cunning  women,  and  was  much 
concerned  that  her  husband  absolutely  forbade  her 
consulting  the  Avitch  of  Spitalfields. 

'Nay,  dame,'  said  he,  'an  thou  didst,  the  next 
thing  we  should  hear  would  be  that  thou  hadst 
been  sticking  pins  into  King  Harry's  waxen  image 
and  roasting  him  before  the  fire,  and  that  nothing 
but  roasting  thee  in  life  and  limb  within  a  fire 
would  bring  him  to  life  and  reason. ' 

'They  would  never  dare,'  cried  the  lady. 

'Who  can  tell  what  the  Queen  would  dare  if 
she  gets  her  will! '  demanded  the  Earl.  'Wouldst 
like  to  do  penance  with  sheet  and  candle,  like 
Gloucester's  wife? ' 

Such  a  possibility  was  enough  to  silence  the 
Lady  of  Warwick  on  the  score  of  witches,  and  the 
only  time  she  spoke  to  Grisell  was  to  ask  her 


VII  THE  PILGRIM   OF   SALISBURY  79 

about  Sister  A  vice  and  her  cures.  She  set  herself 
to  persuade  her  husband  to  let  her  go  down  to  one 
of  his  mother's  Wiltshire  houses  to  consult  the 
nun,  but  Warwick  had  business  in  the  north,  nor 
would  he  allow  her  to  be  separated  from  him,  lest 
she  might  be  detained  as  a  hostage. 

Dame  Gresford  continued  to  be  Grisell's  pro- 
tector, and  let  the  girl  sit  and  spin  or  embroider 
beside  her,  while  the  other  ladies  of  the  house 
played  at  ball  in  the  court,  or  watched  the  exer- 
cises of  the  pages  and  squires.  The  dame's  pres- 
ence and  authority  prevented  Grisell's  being  beset 
with  uncivil  remarks,  but  she  knew  she  was  like 
a  toad  among  the  butterflies,  as  she  overheard 
some  saucy  youth  calling  her,  while  a  laugh  an- 
swered him,  and  she  longed  for  her  convent. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

OLD   PLAYFELLOWS 

Alone  thou  goest  forth, 
Thy  face  unto  the  north, 
Moor  and  pleasance  all  around  thee  and  beneath  thee. 
E.  Barrett  Browning,  A  Valediction. 

One  great  pleasure  fell  to  Grisell's  share,  but 
only  too  brief.  The  family  of  the  Duke  of  York 
on  their  Avay  to  Baynard's  Castle  halted  at  War- 
wick House,  and  the  Duchess  Cecily,  tall,  fair, 
and  stately,  sailed  into  the  hall,  followed  by  three 
fair  daughters,  while  Warwick,  her  nephew, 
though  nearly  of  the  same  age,  advanced  with 
his  wife  to  meet  and  receive  her. 

In  the  midst  of  the  exchange  of  affectionate  but 
formal  greetings  a  cry  of  joy  was  heard,  'My  Gri- 
sell !  yes,  it  is  my  Grisell ! '  and  springing  from 
the  midst  of  her  mother's  suite,  Margaret  Plantag- 
enet,  a  tall,  lovely,  dark-haired  girl,  threw  her 
arms  round  the  thin  slight  maiden  with  the  scarred 
face,  which  excited  the  scorn  and  surprise  of  her 
two  sisters. 

80 


CHAP.  VIII  OLD   PLAYFELLOWS  81 

'Margaret!  What  means  this ?  '  demanded  the 
Duchess  severely. 

'It  is  my  Grisell  Dacre,  fair  mother,  my  dear 
companion  at  my  aunt  of  Salisbury's  manor,'  said 
Margaret,  trying  to  lead  forward  her  shrinking 
friend.     'She  Avho  was  so  cruelly  scathed.' 

Grisell  curtsied  low,  but  still  hung  back,  and 
Lord  Warwick  briefly  explained.  'Daughter  to 
Will  Dacre  of  Whitburn,  a  staunch  baron  of  the 
north.  My  mother  bestowed  her  at  Wilton, 
whence  the  creature  of  the  Pope's  intruding 
Abbess  has  taken  upon  him  to  expel  her.  So  I 
am  about  to  take  her  to  Middleham,  where  my 
mother  may  see  to  her  further  bestowal. ' 

'We  have  even  now  come  from  Middleham,' 
said  the  Duchess.  'My  Lord  Duke  sent  for  me, 
but  Le  looks  to  you,  my  lord,  to  compose  the 
strife  between  your  father  and  the  insolent 
Percies. ' 

The  Duke  was  at  Windsor  with  the  poor  insane 
King,  and  the  Earl  and  the  Duchess  plunged  into 
a  discussion  of  the  latest  news  of  the  northern 
counties  and  of  the  Court.  The  elder  daughters 
were  languidly  entertained  by  the  Countess,  but 
no  one  disturbed  the  interview  of  Margaret  and 
Grisell,  who,  hand  in  hand,  had  withdrawn  into 
the  embrasure  of  a  window,   and    there  fondled 


82  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

each  other,  and  exchanged  tidings  of  their  young 
lives,  and  Margaret  told  of  friends  in  the  Nevil 
household. 

All  too  soon  the  interview  came  to  an  end. 
The  Duchess,  after  partaking  of  a  manchet,  was 
ready  to  proceed  to  Baynard's  Castle,  and  the 
Lady  Margaret  was  called  for.  Again,  in  spite 
of  surprised,  not  to  say  displeased  looks,  she  em- 
braced her  dear  old  playfellow.  'Don't  go  into  a 
convent,  Grisell, '  she  entreated.  'When  I  am 
wedded  to  some  great  earl,  you  must  come  and  be 
my  lady,  mine  own,  own  dear  friend.  Promise 
me !     Your  pledge,  Grisell. ' 

There  was  no  time  for  the  pledge.  Margaret 
was  peremptorily  summoned.  They  would  not 
meet  again.  The  Duchess's  intelligence  had 
quickened  Warwick's  departure,  and  the  next 
day  the  first  start  northwards  was  to  be  made. 

It  was  a  mighty  cavalcade.  The  black  guard, 
namely,  the  kitchen  manage,  with  all  their  pots 
and  pans,  kettles  and  spits,  were  sent  on  a  day's 
march  beforehand,  then  came  the  yeomen,  the 
knights  and  squires,  followed  by  the  more  imme- 
diate attendants  of  the  Earl  and  Countess  and 
their  court.  She  travelled  in  a  whirlicote,  and 
there  were  others  provided  for  her  elder  ladies, 
the  rest  riding  singly  or  on  pillions  according  to 


VIII  OLD  PLAYFELLOWS  83 

age  or  taste.  Grisell  did  not  like  to  part  with 
her  pony,  and  Dame  Gresford  preferred  a  pillion 
to  the  bumps  and  jolts  of  the  waggon-like  con- 
yeyances  called  chariots,  so  Grisell  rode  by  her 
side,  the  fresh  spring  breezes  bringing  back  the 
sense  of  being  really  a  northern  maid,  and  she 
threw  back  her  veil  whenever  she  was  alone  with 
the  attendants,  who  were  used  to  her,  though  she 
drew  it  closely  round  when  she  encountered  town 
or  village.  There  were  resting-places  on  the  way. 
In  great  monasteries  all  Avere  accommodated,  be- 
ing used  to  close  quarters;  in  castles  there  was 
room  for  the  'Gentles,'  who,  if  they  fared  well, 
heeded  little  how  they  slept,  and  their  attendants 
found  lairs  in  the  kitchens  or  stables.  In  towns 
there  was  generally  harbour  for  the  noble  portion ; 
indeed  in  some,  Warwick  had  dwellings  of  his 
own,  or  his  father's,  but  these,  at  first,  were  at 
long  distances  apart,  such  as  would  be  ridden  by 
horsemen  alone,  not  encumbered  with  ladies,  and 
there  were  intermediate  stages,  where  some  of  the 
party  had  to  be  dispersed  in  hostels. 

It  was  in  one  of  these,  at  Dunstable,  that  Dame 
Gresford  had  taken  Grisell,  and  there  were  also 
sundry  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  escort.  A  min- 
strel was  esconced  under  the  wide  spread  of  the 
chimney,  and  began  to  sound  his  harp  and  sing 


84  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

long  ballads  in  recitative  to  the  company. 
Whether  he  did  it  in  all  innocence  and  igno- 
rance, or  one  of  the  young  squires  had  mischiev- 
ously prompted  him,  there  was  no  knowing; 
Dame  Gresford  suspected  the  latter,  when  he 
began  the  ballad  of  'Sir  Gawaine's  Wedding.' 
She  would  have  silenced  it,  but  feared  to  draw 
more  attention  on  her  charge,  who  had  never 
heard  the  song,  and  did  not  know  what  was  com- 
ing, but  listened  with  increasing  eagerness  as  she 
heard  of  King  Arthur,  and  of  the  giant,  and  the 
secret  that  the  King  could  not  guess,  till  as  he 

rode  — 

He  came  to  the  green  forest, 

Underneath  a  green  hollen  tree, 

There  sat  that  lady  in  red  scarlet 

That  unseemly  was  to  see. 

Some  eyes  were  discourteously  turned  on  the 
maiden,  but  she  hardly  saw  them,  and  at  any  rate 
her  nose  was  not  crooked,  nor  had  her  eyes  and 
mouth  changed  places,  as  in  the  case  of  the 
'Loathly  Lad}^'  She  heard  of  the  condition  on 
which  the  lady  revealed  the  secret,  and  how  King 
Arthur  bound  himself  to  bring  a  fair  young  knight 
to  wed  the  hideous  being.  Then  when  he  re- 
vealed to  his  assembled  knights  — 

Then  some  took  up  their  hawks, 
And  some  took  up  their  hounds, 


viii  OLD   PLAYFELLOWS  85 

And  some  sware  they  would  not  marry  her 
For  cities  nor  for  towns. 

Glances  again  went  towards  the  scarred  visage, 
but  Grisell  was  heedless  of  them,  only  listening 
how  Sir  Gawaine,  Arthur's  nephew,  felt  that  his 
uncle's  oath  must  be  kept,  and  offered  himself  as 
the  bridegroom. 

Then  after  the  marriage,  when  he  looked  on  the 
lady,  instead  of  the  loathly  hag  he  beheld  a  fair 
damsel!  And  he  was  told  by  her  that  he  might 
choose  whether  she  should  be  foul  at  night  and 
fair  by  day,  or  fair  each  evening  and  frightful  in 
the  daylight  hours.  His  choice  at  first  was  that 
her  beauty  should  be  for  him  alone,  in  his  home, 
but  when  she  objected  that  this  would  be  hard  on 
her,  since  she  could  thus  never  show  her  face 
when  other  dames  ride  with  their  lords  — 

Then  buke  him  gentle  Gawayne, 

Said,  '  Lady,  that's  but  a  shill ; 
Because  thou  art  mine  own  lady 

Thou  shalt  have  all  thy  will.' 

And  his  courtesy  broke  the  spell  of  the  step- 
dame,  as  the  lady  related  — 

*  She  witched  me,  being  a  fair  young  lady, 
To  the  green  forest  to  dwell. 
And  there  must  I  walk  in  woman's  likeness, 
Most  like  a  fiend  in  hell.' 


86  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap,  viii 

Thenceforth  the  enchantment  was  broken,  and 
Sir  Gawaine's  bride  was  fair  to  see. 

Grisell  had  listened  intently,  absorbed  in  the 
narrative,  so  losing  personal  thought  and  feeling 
that  it  was  startling  to  her  to  perceive  that  Dame 
Gresford  was  trying  to  hush  a  rude  laugh,  and 
one  of  the  young  squires  was  saying,  'Hush,  hush! 
for  very  shame.' 

Then  she  saw  that  they  were  applying  the  story 
to  her,  and  the  blood  rushed  into  her  face,  but  the 
more  courteous  youth  was  trying  to  turn  away 
attention  by  calling  on  the  harper  for  'The  Beggar 
of  Bethnal  Green,'  or  'Lord  Thomas  and  Fair 
Annet, '  or  any  merry  ballad.  So  it  was  borne  in 
on  Grisell  that  to  these  young  gentlemen  she  was 
the  lady  unseemly  to  see.  Yet  though  a  few  hot 
tears  flowed,  indignant  and  sorrowful,  the  san- 
guine spirit  of  youth  revived.  'Sister  Avice  had 
told  her  how  to  be  not  loathly  in  the  sight  of  those 
whom  she  could  teach  to  love  her. ' 

There  was  one  bound  by  a  pledge!  Ah,  he 
would  never  fulfil  it.  If  he  should,  Grisell  felt  a 
resolute  purpose  within  her  that  though  she  could 
not  be  transformed,  he  should  not  see  her  loathly 
in  his  sight,  and  in  that  hope  she  slept. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE   KING-MAKER 

O  where  is  faith?    O  where  is  loyalty? 

Shakespj:are,  Henry  VI.,  Part  II. 

Geisell  was  disappointed  in  her  hopes  of  see- 
ing her  Countess  of  Salisbury  again,  for  as  she 
rode  into  the  Castle  of  York  she  heard  the  Earl's 
hearty  voice  of  greeting.  'Ha,  stout  Will  of 
Whitburn,  well  met !     What,  from  the  north  ?  ' 

The  Earl  stood  talking  with  a  tall  brawny  man, 
lean  and  strong,  brown  and  weather-beaten,  in  a 
frayed  suit  of  buff  leather  stained  to  all  sorts  of 
colours,  in  which  rust  predominated,  and  a  face 
all  brown  and  red  except  for  the  grizzled  eye- 
brows, hair,  and  stubbly  beard.  She  had  not  seen 
her  father  since  she  was  five  years  old,  and  she 
would  not  have  known  him. 

'I  am  from  the  south  now,  my  lord,'  she  heard 
his  gruif  voice  say.  'I  have  been  taking  my  lad 
to  be  bred  up  in  the  Duke  of  York's  house,  for 
better  nurture  than  can  be  had  in  my  sea-side 
tower. ' 

87 


88  GRISLY   GEISELL  chap. 

'Quite  right.  Well  done  in  you,'  responded 
Warwick.  'The  Duke  of  York  is  the  man  to  hold 
by.  We  have  an  exchange  for  you,  a  daughter 
for  a  son,'  and  he  was  leading  the  way  towards 
Grisell,  who  had  just  dismounted  from  her  pony, 
and  stood  by  it,  trembling  a  little,  and  bending 
for  her  father's  blessing.  It  was  not  more  than  a 
crossing  of  her,  and  he  was  talking  all  the  time. 

'Ha!  how  now!  Methought  my  Lady  of  Salis- 
bury had  bestowed  her  in  the  Abbey  —  how  call 
you  it  ? ' 

'Aye,'  returned  Warwick;  'but  since  we  have 
not  had  King  or  Parliament  with  spirit  to  stand 
up  to  the  Pope,  he  thrusts  his  claw  in  everywhere, 
puts  a  strange  Abbess  into  Wilton,  and  what  must 
she  do  but  send  down  her  Proctor  to  treat  the  poor 
nunnery  as  it  were  a  sponge,  and  spite  of  all  my 
Lady  Mother's  bounties  to  the  place,  what  lists 
he  do  but  turn  out  the  poor  maid  for  lack  of  a 
dowry,  not  so  much  as  giving  time  for  a  notice  to 
be  sent.' 

'If  we  had  such  a  rogue  in  the  North  Country 
we  should  know  how  to  serve  him, '  observed  Sir 
William,  and  Warwick  laughed  as  befitted  a 
Westmoreland  Nevil,  albeit  he  was  used  to  more 
civilised  ways. 

'Scurvy  usage,'  he  said,  'but  the  Prioress  had 


IX  THE   KING-MAKER  89 

no  choice  save  to  put  her  in  such  keeping  as  she 
could,  and  send  her  away  to  my  Lady  Mother,  or 
failing  her  to  her  home.' 

'Soh!  She  must  e'en  jog  off  with  me,  though 
how  it  is  to  be  with  her  my  lady  may  tell,  not  I, 
since  every  groat,  those  villain  yeomen  and  fisher 
folk  would  raise,  went  to  fit  out  young  Rob,  and 
there  has  not  been  so  much  as  a  Border  raid  these 
four  3^ears  and  more.  There  are  the  nuns  at 
Gateshead,  as  hard  as  nails,  will  not  hear  of  a 
maid  without  a  dower,  and  yonder  mans  worn  fel- 
low Copeland  casts  her  off  like  an  old  glove !  Let 
us  look  at  you,  wench!  Ha!  Face  is  unsightly 
enough,  but  thou  wilt  not  be  a  badly-made  woman. 
Take  heart,  what's  thy  name  —  Grisell  ?  May  be 
there's  luck  for  thee  still,  though  it  be  hard  of 
coming  to  Whitburn, '  he  added,  turning  to  War- 
wick. 'There's  this  wench  scorched  to  a  cinder, 
enough  to  fright  one,  and  my  other  lad  racked 
from  head  to  foot  with  pain  and  sores,  so  as  it  is 
a  misery  to  hear  the  poor  child  cry  out,  and  even 
if  he  be  reared,  he  will  be  good  for  nought  save  a 
convent. ' 

Grisell  would  fain  have  heard  more  about  this 
poor  little  brother,  but  the  ladies  were  entering 
the  castle,  and  she  had  to  follow  them.  She  saw 
no  more  of  her  father  except  from  the  far  end  of 


90  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

the  table,  but  orders  were  issued  that  she  should 
be  ready  to  accompany  him  on  his  homeward  way 
the  next  morning  at  six  o'clock.  Her  brother 
Robert  had  been  sent  in  charge  of  some  of  the 
Duke  of  York's  retainers,  to  join  his  household  as 
a  page,  though  they  had  missed  him  on  the  route, 
and  the  Lord  of  Whitburn  was  anxious  to  get 
home  again,  never  being  quite  sure  what  the  Scots, 
or  the  Percies,  or  his  kinsmen  of  Gilsland,  might 
attempt  in  his  absence.  'Though,'  as  he  said, 
'my  lady  was  as  good  as  a  dozen  men-at-arms,  but 
somehow  she  had  not  been  the  same  woman  since 
little  Bernard  had  fallen  sick.' 

There  was  no  one  in  the  company  with  whom 
Grisell  was  very  sorry  to  part,  for  though  Dame 
Gresford  had  been  kind  to  her,  it  had  been  merely 
the  attending  to  the  needs  of  a  charge,  not  show- 
ing her  any  affection,  and  she  had  shrunk  from  the 
eyes  of  so  large  a  party. 

When  she  came  down  early  into  the  hall,  her 
father's  half-dozen  retainers  were  taking  their 
morning  meal  at  one  end  of  a  big  board,  while  a 
manchet  of  bread  and  a  silver  cup  of  ale  was  ready 
for  each  of  them  at  the  other,  and  her  father  while 
swallowing  his  was  in  deep  conversation  over 
northern  politics  with  the  courteous  Earl,  who 
had  come   down   to   speed  his   guests.     As   she 


IX  THE   KING-MAKER  91 

passed  the  retainers  she  heard,  'Here  comes  our 
Grisly  Grisell,'  and  a  smothered  laugh,  and  in 
fact  'Grisly  Grisell '  continued  to  be  her  name 
among  the  free-spoken  people  of  the  north.  The 
Earl  broke  off,  bowed  to  her,  and  saw  that  she 
was  provided,  breaking  into  his  conversation  with 
the  Baron,  evidently  much  to  the  impatience  of 
the  latter;  and  again  the  polite  noble  came  down 
to  the  door  with  her,  and  placed  her  on  her  pal- 
frey, bidding  her  a  kind  farewell  ere  she  rode 
away  with  her  father.  It  would  be  long  before 
she  met  with  such  courtesy  again.  Her  father 
called  to  his  side  his  old,  rugged-looking  esquire 
Cuthbert  Ridley,  and  began  discussing  with  him 
what  Lord  Warwick  had  said,  both  wholly  ab- 
sorbed in  the  subject,  and  paying  no  attention  to 
the  girl  who  rode  by  the  Baron's  side,  so  that  it 
was  well  that  her  old  infantine  training  in  horse- 
manship had  come  back  to  her. 

She  remembered  Cuthbert  Ridley,  who  had 
carried  her  about  and  petted  her  long  ago,  and, 
to  her  surprise,  looked  no  older  than  he  had  done 
in  those  days  when  he  had  seemed  to  her  infinitely 
aged.  Indeed  it  was  to  him,  far  more  than  to  her 
father,  that  she  owed  any  attention  or  care  taken 
of  her  on  the  journey.  Her  father  was  not  un- 
kind, but  never  seemed  to  recollect  that  she  needed 


92  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

any  more  care  than  his  rough  followers,  and  once 
or  twice  he  and  all  his  people  rode  off  headlong 
over  the  fell  at  sight  of  a  stag  roused  by  one  of 
their  great  deer-hounds.  Then  Cuthbert  Ridley 
kept  beside  her,  and  when  the  ground  became  too 
rough  for  a  New  Forest  pony  and  a  hand  unac- 
customed to  northern  ground,  he  drew  up.  She 
would  probably  —  if  not  thrown  and  injured  — 
have  been  left  behind  to  feel  herself  lost  on  the 
moors.  She  minded  the  less  his  somewhat  rude 
ejaculation,  'Ho!  Ho!  South!  South!  Forgot 
how  to  back  a  horse  on  rough  ground.  Eh? 
And  what  a  poor  soft-paced  beast!  Only  fit  to 
ride  on  my  lady's  pilgrimage  or  in  a  State  pro- 
cession. ' 

(He  said  Gang,  but  neither  the  Old  English 
nor  the  northern  dialect  could  be  understood  by 
the  writer  or  the  reader,  and  must  be  taken  for 
granted.) 

'  They  are  all  gone ! '  responded  Grisell,  rather 
frightened. 

'Never  guessed  you  were  not  among  them,'  re- 
plied Ridley.  'Why,  my  lady  would  be  among 
the  foremost,  in  at  the  death  belike,  if  she  did  not 
cut  the  throat  of  the  quarry. ' 

Grisell  could  well  believe  it,  but  used  to  gen- 
tle nuns,  she  shuddered  a  little  as  she  asked  what 
they  were  to  do  next. 


IX  THE  KING-MAKER  93 

'Turn  back  to  the  track,  and  go  softly  on  till 
my  lord  comes  up  with  us,'  answered  Ridle}^ 
'Or  you  might  be  fain  to  rest  under  a  rock  for  a 
while.' 

The  rest  was  far  from  unwelcome,  and  Grisell 
sat  down  on  a  mossy  stone  while  Ridley  gathered 
bracken  for  her  shelter,  and  presently  even  brought 
her  a  branch  or  two  of  whortle-berries.  She  felt 
that  she  had  a  friend,  and  was  pleased  when  he 
began  to  talk  of  how  he  remembered  her  long  ago. 

'Ah!  I  mind  you,  a  little  fat  ball  of  a  thing, 
when  you  were  fetched  home  from  Herring  Dick's 
house,  how  you  used  to  run  after  the  dogs  like  a 
kitten  after  her  tail,  and  used  to  crave  to  be  put 
up  on  old  Black  Durham's  back.' 

'I  remember  Black  Durham!  Had  he  not  a 
white  star  on  his  forehead  ? ' 

'A  white  blaze  sure  enough.' 

'Is  he  at  the  tower  still?  I  did  not  see  him  in 
the  plump  of  spears. ' 

'No,  no,  poor  beast.  He  broke  his  leg  four 
years  ago  come  Martinmas,  in  a  rabbit-hole  on  Ber- 
wick Law,  last  raid  that  we  made,  and  I  tarried 
to  cut  his  throat  with  my  dagger- —  though  it  went 
to  my  heart,  for  his  good  old  eyes  looked  at  me 
like  Christians,  and  my  lord  told  me  I  was  a  fool 
for  my  pains,  for  the  Elliots  were  hard  upon  us, 


94  GEISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

but  I  could  not  leave  him  to  be  a  mark  for  them, 
and  I  was  up  with  the  rest  in  time,  though  I  had 
to  cut  down  the  foremost  lad.' 

Certainly  'home  '  would  be  very  unlike  the  ex- 
perience of  Grisell's  education. 

Ridley  gave  her  a  piece  of  advice.  'Do  not  be 
daunted  at  my  lady;  her  bark  is  ever  worse  than 
her  bite,  and  what  she  will  not  bear  with  is  the 
seeming  cowed  before  her.  She  is  all  the  sharper 
with  her  tongue  now  that  her  heart  is  sore  for 
Master  Bernard. ' 

'What  ails  my  brother  Bernard?'  then  asked 
Grisell  anxiously. 

'The  saints  may  know,  but  no  man  does,  unless 
it  was  that  Crooked  Nan  of  Strait  Glen  overlooked 
the  poor  child, '  returned  the  esquire.  'Ever  since 
he  fell  into  the  red  beck  he  hath  done  nought  but 
peak  and  pine,  and  be  twisted  with  cramps  and 
aches,  with  sores  breaking  out  on  him;  though 
there's  a  honeycomb-stone  from  Roker  over  his 
bed.  My  lord  took  out  all  the  retainers  to  lay 
hold  on  Crooked  Nan,  but  she  got  scent  of  it  no 
doubt,  for  Jack  of  Burhill  took  his  oath  that  he 
had  seen  a  muckle  hare  run  up  the  glen  that  morn, 
and  when  we  got  there  she  was  not  to  be  seen  or 
heard  of.  We  have  heard  of  her  in  the  Gilsland 
ground,  where  they  would  all  the  sooner  see  a  fine 


nc  THE   KING-MAKER  95 

young  lad  of  Whitburn  crippled  and  a  mere  mis- 
ery to  see  or  hear. ' 

Grisell  was  quite  as  ready  to  believe  in  witch- 
craft as  was  the  old  squire,  and  to  tremble  at  their 
capacities  for  mischief.  She  asked  what  nun- 
neries were  near,  and  was  disappointed  to  find 
nothing  within  easy  reach.  St.  Cuthbert's  diocese 
had  not  greatly  favoured  womankind,  and  Whitby 
was  far  away. 

By  and  by  her  father  came  back,  the  thundering 
tramp  of  the  horses  being  heard  in  time  enough 
for  her  to  spring  up  and  be  mounted  again  before 
he  came  in  sight,  the  yeomen  carrying  the  antlers 
and  best  portions  of  the  deer. 

'Left  out,  my  wench,'  he  shouted.  'We  must 
mount  you  better.  Ho !  Cuthbert,  thou  a  squire 
of  dames  ?     Ha !  ha ! ' 

'The  maid  could  not  be  left  to  lose  herself  on 
the  fells, '  muttered  the  squire,  rather  ashamed  of 
his  courtesy. 

'She  must  get  rid  of  nunnery  breeding.  We 
want  no  trim  and  dainty  lassies  here, '  growled  her 
father.     'Look  you,  Ridley,  that  horse  of   Hob's 

'  and  the  rest  was   lost  in   a  discussion  on 

horseflesh. 

Long  rides,  which  almost  exhausted  Grisell,  and 
halts  in  exceedingly  uncomfortable  hostels,  where 


96  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

she  could  hardly  obtain  tolerable  seclusion,  brought 
her  at  last  within  reach  of  home.  There  was  a 
tall  church  tower  and  some  wretched  hovels  round 
it.  The  Lord  of  Whitburn  halted,  and  blew  his 
bugle  with  the  peculiar  note  that  signified  his  own 
return,  then  all  rode  down  to  the  old  peel,  the 
outline  of  which  Grisell  saw  with  a  sense  of  re- 
membrance, against  the  gray  sea-line,  with  the 
little  breaking,  glancing  waves,  which  she  now 
knew  herself  to  have  unconsciously  wanted  and 
missed  for  years  past. 

Whitburn  Tower  stood  on  the  south  side,  on  a 
steep  clift'  overlooking  the  sea.  The  peel  tower 
itself  looked  high  and  strong,  but  to  Grisell, 
accustomed  to  the  widespread  courts  of  the  great 
castles  and  abbeys  of  the  south,  the  circuit  of  out- 
buildings seemed  very  narrow  and  cramped,  for 
truly  there  was  need  to  have  no  more  walls  than 
could  be  helped  for  the  few  defenders  to  guard. 

All  was  open  now,  and  under  the  arched  gate- 
way, with  the  portcullis  over  her  head,  fitl}^  fram- 
ing her,  stood  the  tall,  gaunt  figure  of  the  lady, 
grayer,  thinner,  more  haggard  than  when  Grisell 
had  last  seen  her,  and  beside  her,  leaning  on  a 
crutch,  a  white-faced  boy,  small  and  stunted  for 
six  years  old. 

'Ha,  dame!  Ha,  Bernard;  how  goes  it?' 
shouted  the  Baron  in  his  gruff,  hoarse  voice. 


IX  THE  KING-MAKER  97 

'He  willed  to  come  down  to  greet  you,  though 
he  cannot  hold  your  stirrup,'  said  the  mother. 
'You  are  soon  returned.     Is  all  well  with  Rob? ' 

'  O  aye,  I  found  Thorslan  of  Danby  and  a  plump 
of  spears  on  the  way  to  the  Duke  of  York  at 
Windsor.  They  say  he  will  need  all  his  follow- 
ing if  the  Beauforts  put  it  about  that  the  King  has 
recovered  as  much  wit  as  ever  he  had.  So  I  e'en 
sent  Rob  on  with  him,  and  came  back  so  as  to  be 
ready  in  case  there's  a  call  for  me.  Soh!  Berney ; 
on  thy  feet  again  ?  That's  well,  my  lad ;  but  we'll 
have  thee  up  the  steps.' 

He  seemed  quite  to  have  forgotten  the  presence 
of  Grisell,  and  it  was  Cuthbert  Ridley  who  helped 
her  off  her  horse,  but  just  then  little  Bernard  in 
his  father's  arms  exclaimed 

'Black  nun  woman! ' 

'By  St.  Cuthbert! '  cried  the  Baron,  'I  mind 
me !  Here,  wench !  I  have  brought  back  the  maid 
in  her  brother's  stead. ' 

And  as  Grisell,  in  obedience  to  his  call,  threw 
back  her  veil,  Bernard  screamed,  'Ugsome  wench, 
send  her  away ! '  threw  his  arms  round  his  father's 
neck  and  hid  his  face  with  a  babyish  gesture. 

'Saints  have  mercy!  '  cried  the  mother,  'thou 
hast  not  mended  much  since  I  saw  thee  last.  They 
that  marred  thee  had  best  have  kept  thee.  What- 
ever shall  we  do  with  the  maid  ?  ' 


98  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

'Send  her  away,  the  loathly  thing,'  reiterated 
the  boy,  lifting  up  his  head  from  his  father's 
shoulder  for  another  glimpse,  which  produced  a 
puckering  of  the  face  in  readiness  for  crying. 

'Nay,  nay,  Bernard,'  said  Ridley,  feeling  for 
the  poor  girl  and  speaking  up  for  her  when  no  one 
else  would.  'She  is  your  sister,  and  you  must  be 
a  fond  brother  to  her,  for  an  ill-nurtured  lad  spoilt 
her  poor  face  when  it  was  as  fair  as  your  own. 
Kiss  your  sister  like  a  good  lad,  and ' 

'No!  no!'  shouted  Bernard.  'Take  her  away. 
I  hate  her. '     He  began  to  cry  and  kick. 

'Get  out  of  his  sight  as  fast  as  may  be,'  com- 
manded the  mother,  alarmed  by  her  sickly  dar- 
ling's paroxysm  of  passion. 

Grisell,  scarce  knowing  where  to  go,  could  only 
allow  herself  to  be  led  away  by  Ridley,  who,  see- 
ing her  tears,  tried  to  comfort  her  in  his  rough 
way.  "Tis  the  petted  bairn's  way,  you  see, 
mistress  —  and  my  lady  has  no  thought  save  for 
him.  He  will  get  over  it  soon  enough  when  he 
learns  your  gentle  convent-bred  conditions.' 

Still  the  cry  of  '  Grisly  Grisell, '  picked  up  as  if 
by  instinct  or  by  some  echo  from  the  rear  of  the 
escort,  rang  in  her  ears  in  the  angrj'-  fretful  voice 
of  the  poor  little  creature  towards  whom  her  heart 
was   yearning.      Even   the   two   women-servants 


IX  THE  KING-MAKER  99 

there  were,  no  more  looked  at  her  askance,  as  they 
took  her  to  a  seat  in  the  hall,  and  consulted  where 
my  lady  would  have  her  bestowed.  She  was  wip- 
ing away  bitter  tears  as  she  heard  her  onl}-  friend 
Cuthbert  settle  the  matter.  'The  chamber  within 
the  solar  is  the  place  for  the  noble  damsels. ' 

'That  is  full  of  old  armour,  and  dried  herrings, 
and  stockfish. ' 

'Move  them  then!  A  fair  greeting  to  give  to 
my  lord's  daughter.' 

There  was  some  further  muttering  about  a  bed, 
and  Grisell  sprang  up.  '  Oh,  hush !  hush !  I  can 
sleep  on  a  cloak;  I  have  done  so  for  many  nights. 
Only  let  me  be  no  burthen.  Show  me  where  I  can 
go  to  be  an  anchoress,  since  they  will  not  have 
me  in  a  convent  or  anywhere,'  and  bitterly  she 
wept. 

'Peace,  peace,  lady,'  said  the  squire  kindly.  'I 
will  deal  with  these  ill-tongued  lasses.  Shame 
on  them !  Go  off,  and  make  the  chamber  ready, 
or  I'll  find  a  scourge  for  you.  And  as  to  my  lady 
—  she  is  wrapped  up  in  the  sick  bairn,  but  she 
has  only  to  get  used  to  you  to  be  friendly  enough. ' 

'O  what  a  hope  in  a  mother,'  thought  poor 
Grisell.  '  O  that  I  were  at  Wilton  or  some  nun- 
nery, where  my  looks  would  be  pardoned !  Mother 
Avice,  dear  mother,  what  wouldst  thou  say  to  me 
now! ' 


100  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap,  ix 

The  peel  tower  had  been  the  original  building, 
and  was  still  as  it  were  the  citadel,  but  below  had 
been  built  the  very  strong  but  narrow  castle  court, 
containing  the  stables  and  the  well,  and  likewise 
the  hall  and  kitchen  —  which  were  the  dwelling 
and  sleeping  places  of  the  men  of  the  household, 
excepting  Cuthbert  Ridley,  who  being  of  gentle 
blood,  would  sit  above  the  salt,  and  had  his 
quarters  with  Rob  when  at  home  in  the  tower. 
The  solar  was  a  room  above  the  hall,  where  was 
the  great  box -bed  of  the  lord  and  lady,  and  a  little 
bed  for  Bernard. 

Entered  through  it,  in  a  small  turret,  was  a 
chamber  designed  for  the  daughters  and  maids, 
and  this  was  rightly  appropriated  by  Ridley  to  the 
Lady  Grisell.  The  two  women-servants  —  Bell 
and  Madge  —  were  wives  to  the  cook  and  the 
castle  smith,  so  the  place  had  been  disused  and 
made  a  receptacle  for  drying  fish,  fruit,  and  the 
like.  Thus  the  sudden  call  for  its  use  provoked 
a  storm  of  murmurs  in  no  gentle  voices,  and 
Grisell  shrank  into  a  corner  of  the  hall,  only  wish- 
ing she  could  efface  herself. 

And  as  she  looked  out  on  the  sea  from  her  narrow 
window,  it  seemed  to  her  dismally  gray,  moaning, 
restless,  and  dreary. 


CHAPTER  X 

COLD   WELCOME 

Seek  not  for  others  to  love  you, 

But  seek  yourself  to  love  them  best, 

And  you  shall  find  the  secret  true. 
Of  love  and  joy  and  rest. 

I.  Williams. 

To  lack  beauty  was  a  much  more  serious  mis- 
fortune in  the  Middle  Ages  than  at  present.  Of 
course  it  was  probable  that  there  might  be  a  con- 
tract of  marriage  made  entirely  irrespective  of 
attractiveness,  long  before  the  development  of 
either  of  the  principal  parties  concerned ;  but  even 
then  the  rude,  open-spoken  husband  would  con- 
sider himself  absolved  from  any  attention  to  an 
ill-favoured  wife,  and  the  free  tongues  of  her  sur- 
roundings would  not  be  slack  to  make  her  aware 
of  her  defects.  The  cloister  was  the  refuge  of  the 
unmarried  woman,  if  of  gentle  birth  as  a  nun,  if 
of  a  lower  grade  as  a  lay-sister;  but  the  fifteenth 
century  was  an  age  neither  of  religion  nor  of  chiv- 
alry.    Dowers  were  more  thought  of  than  devotion 

101 


'  '  'i02    '     '    ^  r    '    - ,     GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

Co  c      f  '    f  '         (.  '    C      (  <  '    '     < 

'      '"    '"  c'    <■      r '    '     '         '      '   t      !  '.       r    ^  f 

""'  '  in'  c'dn-sfettts  us*  elsewhere.  Whitby  being  one  of 
the  oldest  and  grandest  foundations  was  sure  to  be 
inaccessible  to  a  high-born  but  unportioned  girl, 
and  Grisell  in  her  sense  of  loneliness  saw  nothing 
before  her  but  to  become  an  anchoress,  that  is  to 
say,  a  female  hermit,  such  as  generally  lived  in 
strict  seclusion  under  shelter  of  the  Church. 

'There  at  least,'  thought  poor  Grisell,  'there 
would  be  none  to  sting  me  to  the  heart  with  those 
jeering  eyes  of  theirs.  And  I  might  feel  in  time 
that  God  and  His  Saints  loved  me,  and  not  long 
for  my  father  and  mother,  and  oh !  my  poor  little 
brother  —  yes,  and  Leonard  Copeland,  and  Sister 
Avice,  and  the  rest.  But  would  Sister  Avice  call 
this  devotion  ?  Nay,  would  she  not  say  that  these 
cruel  eyes  and  words  are  a  cross  upon  me,  and  I 
must  bear  them  and  love  in  spite  —  at  least  till  I 
be  old  enough  to  choose  for  myself  ? ' 

She  was  summoned  to  supper,  and  this  increased 
the  sense  of  dreariness,  for  Bernard  screamed  that 
the  grisly  one  should  not  come  near  him,  or  he 
would  not  eat,  and  she  had  to  take  her  meal  of 
dried  fish  and  barley  bread  in  the  wide  chimney 
corner,  where  there  always  was  a  fire  at  every  sea- 
son of  the  year. 

Her  chamber,  which  Cuthbert  Ridley's  exer- 
tions had  compelled  the  women  to  prepare  for  her, 


X  COLD  WELCOME  103 

was  —  as  seen  in  the  light  of  the  long  evening  — 
a  desolate  place,  within  a  turret,  opening  from  the 
solar,  or  chamber  of  her  parents  and  Bernard,  the 
loophole  window  devoid  of  glass,  though  a  shutter 
could  be  closed  in  bad  weather,  the  walls  circular 
and  of  rough,  untouched,  unconcealed  stone,  a 
pallet  bed  —  the  only  attempt  at  furniture,  except 
one  chest  —  and  Grisell's  own  mails  tumbled 
down  anyhow,  and  all  pervaded  by  an  ancient  and 
fishy  smell.  She  felt  too  down-hearted  even  to 
creep  out  and  ask  for  a  pitcher  of  water.  She 
took  a  long  look  over  the  gray,  heaving  sea,  and 
tired  as  she  was,  it  was  long  before  she  could  pray 
and  cry  herself  to  sleep,  and  accustomed  as  she 
was  to  convent  beds,  this  one  appeared  to  be 
stuffed  with  raw  apples,  and  she  awoke  with 
aching  bones. 

Her  request  for  a  pitcher  or  pail  of  water  was 
treated  as  southland  finery,  for  those  who  washed 
at  all  used  the  horse  trough,  but  fortunately  for 
her  Cuthbert  Ridley  heard  the  request.  He  had 
been  enough  in  the  south  in  attendance  on  his 
master  to  know  how  young  damsels  lived,  and 
what  treatment  they  met  with,  and  he  was  soon 
rating  the  women  in  no  measured  terms  for  the 
disrespect  they  had  presumed  to  show  to  the  Lady 
Grisell,  encouraged  by  the  neglect  of  her  parents. 


104  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

The  Lord  of  Whitburn,  appearing  on  the  scene  at 
the  moment,  backed  up  his  retainer,  and  made  it 
plain  that  he  intended  his  daughter  to  be  re- 
spected and  obeyed,  and  the  grumbling  women 
had  to  submit.  Nor  did  he  refuse  to  acknowl- 
edge, on  Ridley's  representation,  that  Grisell 
ought  to  have  an  attendant  of  her  own,  and  the 
lady  of  the  castle,  coming  down  with  Bernard 
clinging  to  her  skirt  with  one  hand,  and  leaning 
on  his  crutch,  consented.  'If  the  maid  was  to 
be  here,  she  must  be  treated  fitly,  and  Bell  and 
Madge  had  enough  to  do  without  convent-bred 
fancies.' 

So  Cuthbert  descended  the  steep  path  to 
the  ravine  where  dwelt  the  fisher  folk,  and 
came  back  with  a  girl  barefooted,  bareheaded, 
with  long,  streaming,  lint-white  locks,  and  the 
scantiest  of  garments,  crying  bitterly  with  fright, 
and  almost  struggling  to  go  back.  She  was  the 
orphan  remnant  of  a  family  drowned  in  the  bay, 
and  was  a  burthen  on  her  fisher  kindred,  who  were 
rejoiced  thus  to  dispose  of  her. 

She  sobbed  the  more  at  sight  of  the  grisly  lady, 
and  almost  screamed  when  Grisell  smiled  and 
tried  to  take  her  by  the  hand.  Ridley  fairly 
drove  her  upstairs,  step  by  step,  and  then  shut 
her  in  with  his  young  lady,  when  she  sank  on  the 
floor  and  hid  her  face  under  all  her  bleached  hair. 


X  COLD   WELCOME  105 

'Poor  little  thing,' thought  Grisell;  'it  is  like 
having  a  fresh-caught  sea-gull.  She  is  as  forlorn 
as  I  am,  and  more  afraid! ' 

So  she  began  to  speak  gently  and  coaxingly, 
begging  the  girl  to  look  up,  and  assuring  her 
that  she  would  not  be  hurt.  Grisell  had  a  very 
soft  and  persuasive  voice.  Her  chief  misfortune 
as  regarded  her  appearance  was  that  the  muscles 
of  one  cheek  had  been  so  drawn  that  though  she 
smiled  sweetly  with  one  side  of  her  face,  the  other 
was  contracted  and  went  awry,  so  that  when  the 
kind  tones  had  made  the  girl  look  up  for  a  moment, 
the  next  she  cried,  'O  don't  —  don't!  Holy  Mary, 
forbid  the  spell ! ' 

'I  have  no  spells,  my  poor  maid;  indeed  I  am 
only  a  poor  girl,  a  stranger  here  in  my  own  home. 
Come,  and  do  not  fear  me. ' 

'Madge  said  you  had  witches'  marks  on  your 
face,'  sobbed  the  child. 

'Only  the  marks  of  gunpowder,'  said  Grisell. 
'Listen,  I  will  tell  thee  what  befell  me.' 

Gunpowder  seemed  to  be  quite  beyond  all  expe- 
rience of  Whitburn  nature,  but  the  history  of  the 
catastrophe  gained  attention,  and  the  girl's  terror 
abated,  so  that  Grisell  could  ask  her  name,  which 
was  Thora,  and  learning,  too,  that  she  had  led  a 
hard  life  since  her  granny  died,  and  her  uncle's 


106  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

wife  beat  her,  and  made  her  carry  heavy  loads  of 
sea-weed  when  it  froze  her  hands,  besides  a  hun- 
dred other  troubles.  As  to  knowing  any  kind  of 
feminine  art,  she  was  as  ignorant  as  if  the  rough 
and  extremely  dirty  woollen  garment  she  wore, 
belted  round  with  a  strip  of  leather,  had  grown 
upon  her,  and  though  Grisell's  own  stock  of  gar- 
ments was  not  extensive,  she  was  obliged,  for 
very  shame,  to  dress  this  strange  attendant  in 
what  she  could  best  spare,  as  well  as,  in  spite  of 
sobs  and  screams,  to  wash  her  face,  hands,  and 
feet,  and  it  was  wonderful  how  great  a  difference 
this  made  in  the  wild  creature  by  the  time  the 
clang  of  the  castle  bell  summoned  all  to  the  mid- 
day meal,  when  as  before,  Bernard  professed  not 
to  be  able  to  look  at  his  sister,  but  when  she  had 
retreated  he  was  seen  spying  at  her  through  his 
fingers,  with  great  curiosity. 

Afterwards  she  went  up  to  her  mother  to  beg 
for  a  few  necessaries  for  herself  and  for  her  maid, 
and  to  offer  to  do  some  spinning.  She  was  not 
very  graciously  answered;  but  she  was  allowed 
an  old  frayed  horse-cloth  on  which  Thora  might 
sleep,  and  for  the  rest  she  might  see  what  she 
could  find  under  the  stairs  in  the  turret,  or  in  the 
chest  in  the  hall  window. 

The     broken,     dilapidated    fragments     which 


X  COLD   WELCOME  107 

seemed  to  Grisell  mere  rubbish  were  treasures 
and  wonders  to  Thora,  and  out  of  them  she  picked 
enough  to  render  her  dreary  chamber  a  very  few 
degrees  more  habitable.  Thora  would  sleep  there, 
and  certainly  their  relations  were  reversed,  for 
carrying  water  was  almost  the  only  office  she  per- 
formed at  first,  since  Grisell  had  to  dress  her,  and 
teach  her  to  keep  herself  in  a  tolerable  state  of 
neatness,  and  likewise  how  to  spin,  luring  her 
with  the  hope  of  spinning  yarn  for  a  new  dress 
for  herself.  As  to  prayers,  her  mind  was  a  mere 
blank,  though  she  said  something  that  sounded 
like  a  spell  except  that  it  began  with  'Pater.' 
She  did  not  know  who  made  her,  and  entirely 
believed  in  Niord  and  Rana,  the  storm-gods  of 
Norseland.  Yet  she  had  always  been  to  mass 
every  Sunday  morning.  So  went  all  the  family 
at  the  castle  as  a  matter  of  course,  but  except 
when  the  sacring-bell  hushed  them,  the  Baron 
freely  discussed  crops  or  fish  with  the  tenants, 
and  the  lady  wrangled  about  dues  of  lambs,  eggs, 
and  fish.  Grisell's  attention  was  a  new  thing,  and 
the  priest's  pronunciation  was  so  defective  to  her 
ear  that  she  could  hardly  follow. 

That  first  week  Grisell  had  plenty  of  occupation 
in  settling  her  room  and  training  her  uncouth 
maid,  who  proved  a  much  more  apt  scholar  than 


108  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

she  had  expected,  and  became  devoted  to  her  like 
a  little  faithful  dog. 

No  one  else  took  much  notice  of  either,  except 
that  at  times  Cuthbert  Ridley  showed  himself  to 
be  willing  to  stand  up  for  her.  Her  father  was 
out  a  great  deal,  hunting  or  hawking  or  holding 
consultations  with  neighbouring  knights  or  the 
men  of  Sunderland.  Her  mother,  with  the  loud- 
est and  most  peremptory  of  voices,  ruled  over  the 
castle,  ordered  the  men  on  their  guards  and  at  the 
stables,  and  the  cook,  scullions,  and  other  ser- 
vants, but  without  much  good  effect  as  household 
affairs  were  concerned,  for  the  meals  were  as  far 
removed  from  the  delicate,  dainty  serving  of  the 
simplest  fast-day  meal  at  Wilton  as  from  the  sumpt- 
uous plenty  and  variety  of  Warwick  house,  and 
Bernard  often  cried  and  could  not  eat.  She  longed 
to  make  up  for  him  one  of  the  many  appetising 
possets  well  known  at  Wilton,  but  her  mother  and 
Ralf  the  cook  both  scouted  her  first  proposal. 
They  wanted  no  south-bred  meddlers  over  their 
fire. 

However,  one  evening  when  Bernard  had  been 
fretful  and  in  pain,  the  Baron  had  growled  out  that 
the  child  was  cockered  beyond  all  bearing,  and  the 
mother  had  flown  out  at  the  unnatural  father,  and 
on  his  half  laughing  at  her  doting  ways,  had  actu- 


X  COLD  WELCOME  109 

ally  rushed  across  with  clenched  fist  to  box  his 
ears;  he  had  muttered  that  the  pining  brat  and 
shrewish  dame  made  the  house  no  place  for  him, 
and  wandered  out  to  the  society  of  his  horses. 
Lady  Whitburn,  after  exhaling  her  wrath  in  abuse 
of  him  and  all  around,  carried  the  child  up  to  his 
bed.  There  he  was  moaning,  and  she  trying  to 
soothe  him,  when,  darkness  having  put  a  stop  to 
Grisell's  spinning,  she  went  to  her  chamber  with 
Thora.  In  passing,  the  moaning  was  still  heard, 
and  she  even  thought  her  mother  was  crying. 
She  ventured  to  approach  and  ask,  'Fares  he  no 
better  ?    If  I  might  rub  that  poor  leg. ' 

But  Bernard  peevishly  hid  his  face  and  whined, 
'Go  away.  Grisly,'  and  her  mother  exclaimed, 
'Away  with  you,  I  have  enough  to  vex  me  here 
without  you. ' 

She  could  only  retire  as  fast  as  possible,  and 
her  tears  ran  down  her  face  as  in  the  long  summer 
twilight  she  recited  the  evening  offices,  the  same 
in  which  Sister  Avice  was  joining  in  Wilton 
chapel.  Before  they  were  over  she  heard  her 
father  come  up  to  bed,  and  in  a  harsh  and  angered 
voice  bid  Bernard  to  be  still.  There  was  stillness 
for  some  little  time,  but  by  and  by  the  moaning 
and  sobbing  began  again,  and  there  was  a  jangling 
between  the  gruff  voice  and  the  shrill  one,  now 


110  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

thinner  and  weaker.  Grisell  felt  that  she  must 
try  again,  and  crept  out.  'If  I  might  rub  him  a 
little  while,  and  you  rest.  Lady  Mother.  He 
cannot  see  me  now. ' 

She  prevailed,  or  rather  the  poor  mother's  utter 
weariness  and  dejection  did,  together  with  the 
father's  growl,  'Let  her  bring  us  peace  if  she  can.' 

Lady  Whitburn  let  her  kneel  down  by  the  bed, 
and  guided  her  hand  to  the  aching  thigh. 

'Soft!  Soft!  Good!  Good!'  muttered  Ber- 
nard presently.     '  Go  on ! ' 

Grisell  had  acquired  something  of  that  strange 
almost  magical  touch  of  Sister  Avice,  and  Ber- 
nard lay  still  under  her  hand.  Her  mother,  who 
was  quite  worn  out,  moved  to  her  own  bed,  and 
fell  asleep,  while  the  snores  of  the  Baron  pro- 
claimed him  to  have  been  long  appeased.  The 
boy,  too,  presently  was  breathing  softly,  and  Gri- 
sell's  attitude  relaxed,  as  her  prayers  and  her 
dreams  mingled  together,  and  by  and  by,  what 
she  thought  was  the  organ  in  Wilton  chapel,  and 
the  light  of  St.  Edith's  taper,  proved  to  be  the 
musical  rush  of  the  incoming  tide,  and  the  golden 
sunrise  over  the  sea,  while  all  lay  sound  asleep 
around  her,  and  she  ventured  gently  to  withdraw 
into  her  own  room. 

That  night  was  Grisell's  victory,  though  Ber- 


X  COLD   WELCOME  111 

nard  still  held  aloof  from  her  all  the  ensuing  day, 
when  he  was  really  the  better  and  fresher  for  his 
long  sleep,  but  at  bed-time,  when  as  usual  the 
pain  came  on,  he  wailed  for  her  to  rub  him,  and 
as  it  was  still  daylight,  and  her  father  had  gone 
out  in  one  of  the  boats  to  fish,  she  ventured  on 
singing  to  him,  as  she  rubbed,  to  his  great  delight 
and  still  greater  boon  to  her  yearning  heart.  Even 
by  day,  as  she  sat  at  work,  the  little  fellow  limped 
up  to  her,  and  said,  'Grisl}^  sing  that  again,'  star- 
ing hard  in  her  face  as  she  did  so. 


CHAPTER   XI 

BEENARD 

I  do  remember  an  apothecary,  — 
And  hereabouts  he  dwells. 

Shakespeare,  Romeo  and  Juliet. 

Berkard's  affection  was  as  strong  as  his  aver- 
sion had  been.  Poor  little  boy,  no  one  had  been 
accustomed  enough  to  sickly  children,  or  indeed 
to  children  at  all,  to  know  how  to  make  him  happy 
or  even  comfortable,  and  his  life  had  been  sad  and 
suffering  ever  since  the  blight  that  had  fallen  on 
him,  through  either  the  evil  eye  of  Nan  the  witch, 
or  through  his  fall  into  a  freezing  stream.  His 
brother,  a  great  strong  lad,  had  teased  and  bullied 
him;  his  father,  though  not  actually  unkind  ex- 
cept when  wearied  by  his  fretfulness,  held  him  as 
a  miserable  failure,  scarcely  worth  rearing;  his 
mother,  though  her  pride  was  in  her  elder  son, 
and  the  only  softness  in  her  heart  for  the  little 
one,  had  been  so  rugged  and  violent  a  woman  all 
the  years  of  her  life,  and  had  so  despised  all  gen- 
tler habits  of  civilisation,  that  she  really  did  not 

112 


CHAP.  Xi  BERNARD  113 

know  how  to  be  tender  to  the  child  who  was  really 
her  darling.  Her  infants  had  been  nursed  in  the 
cottages,  and  not  returned  to  the  castle  till  they 
were  old  enough  to  rough  it  —  indeed  they  Avere 
soon  sent  off  to  be  bred  up  elsewhere.  Some 
failure  in  health,  too,  made  it  harder  for  her  to  be 
patient  with  an  ailing  child,  and  her  love  was 
apt  to  take  the  form  of  anger  with  his  petulance 
or  even  with  his  suffering,  or  else  of  fierce  battles 
with  her  husband  in  his  defence. 

The  comfort  would  have  been  in  burning 
Crooked  Nan,  but  that  beldame  had  disposed  of 
herself  out  of  reach,  though  Lady  Whitburn  still 
cherished  the  hope  of  forcing  the  Gilsland  Dacres 
or  the  Percies  to  yield  the  woman  up.  Failing 
this,  the  boy  had  been  shown  to  a  travelling  friar, 
who  had  promised  cure  through  the  relics  he  car- 
ried about;  but  Bernard  had  only  screamed  at 
him,  and  had  been  none  the  better. 

And  now  the  little  fellow  had  got  over  the  first 
shock,  he  found  that  'Grisly,'  as  he  still  called 
her,  but  only  as  an  affectionate  abbreviation,  was 
the  only  person  who  could  relieve  his  pain,  or 
amuse  him,  in  the  whole  castle;  and  he  was  in- 
cessantly hanging  on  her.  She  must  put  him  to 
bed  and  sing  lullabies  to  him,  she  must  rub  his 
limbs  when  they  ached  with  rheumatic  pains ;  hers 


114  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

was  the  only  hand  which  might  touch  the  sores 
that  continually  broke  out,  and  he  would  sit  for 
long  spaces  on  her  lap,  sometimes  stroking  down 
the  scar  and  pitying  it  with  'Poor  Grisly;  when 
I  am  a  man,  I  will  throw  down  my  glove,  and 
fight  with  that  lad,  and  kill  him. ' 

'O  nay,  nay,  Bernard;  he  never  meant  to  dome 
evil.     He  is  a  fair,  brave,  good  boy. ' 

'He  scorned  and  ran  away  from  you.  He  is 
mansworn  and  recreant, '  persisted  Bernard.  'Rob 
and  I  will  make  him  say  that  you  are  the  fairest 
of  ladies. ' 

'O  nay,  nay.     That  he  could  not.' 

'But  you  are,  you  are  —  on  this  side  —  mine 
own  Grisly,'  cried  Bernard,  whose  experiences 
of  fair  ladies  had  not  been  extensive,  and  who 
curled  himself  on  her  lap,  giving  unspeakable  rest 
and  joy  to  her  weary,  yearning  spirit,  as  she 
pressed  him  to  her  breast.  'Now,  a  story,  a  story,' 
he  entreated,  and  she  was  rich  in  tales  from  Scrip- 
ture history  and  legends  of  the  Saints,  or  she 
would  sing  her  sweet  monastic  hj^mns  and  chants, 
as  he  nestled  in  her  lap. 

The  mother  had  fits  of  jealousy  at  the  exclusive 
preference,  and  now  and  then  would  rail  at  Gri- 
sell  for  cosseting  the  bairn  and  keeping  him  a 
helpless  baby;  or  at  Bernard  for  leaving  his  mother 


XI  BERNARD  116 

for  this  ill-favoured,  useless  sister,  and  would 
even  snatch  away  the  boy,  and  declare  that  she 
wanted  no  one  to  deal  with  him  save  herself;  but 
Bernard  had  a  will  of  his  own,  and  screamed  for 
his  Grisly,  throwing  himself  about  in  such  a  man- 
ner that  Lady  Whitburn  was  forced  to  submit, 
and  quite  to  the  alarm  of  her  daughter,  on  one  of 
these  occasions  she  actually  burst  into  a  flood  of 
tears,  sobbing  loud  and  without  restraint.  In- 
deed, though  she  hotly  declared  that  she  ailed 
nothing,  there  was  a  lassitude  about  her  that  made 
it  a  relief  to  have  the  care  of  Bernard  taken  off 
her  hands;  and  the  Baron's  grumbling  at  dis- 
turbed nights  made  the  removal  of  Bernard's  bed 
to  his  sister's  room  generally  acceptable. 

Once,  when  Grisell  was  found  to  have  taught 
both  him  and  Thora  the  English  version  of  the 
Lord's  Prayer  and  Creed,  and  moreover  to  be 
telling  him  the  story  of  the  Gospel,  there  came, 
no  one  knew  from  where,  an  accusation  which 
made  her  father  tramp  up  and  say,  'Mark  you, 
wench,  I'll  have  no  Lollards  here.' 

'Lollards,  sir;  I  never  saw  a  Lollard!'  said 
Grisell  trembling. 

'Where,  then,  didst  learn  all  this,  making  holy 
things  common?' 

'We  all  learnt  it  at  Wilton,  sir,  from  the  rev- 
erend mothers  and  the  holy  father. ' 


116  GKISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

The  Baron  was  fairly  satisfied,  and  muttered 
that  if  the  bairn  was  fit  only  for  a  shaveling,  it 
might  be  all  right. 

Poor  child,  would  he  ever  be  fit  for  that  or  any 
occupation  of  manhood?  However,  Grisell  had 
won  permission  to  compound  broths,  cakes,  and 
possets  for  him,  over  the  hall  fire,  for  the  cook 
and  his  wife  would  not  endure  her  approach  to 
their  domain,  and  with  great  reluctance  allowed 
her  the  materials.  Bernard  watched  her  opera- 
tions with  intense  delight  and  amusement,  and 
tasted  with  a  sense  of  triumph  and  appetite,  call- 
ing on  his  mother  to  taste  likewise ;  and  she,  on 
whose  palate  semi-raw  or  over-roasted  joints  had 
begun  to  pall,  allowed  that  the  nuns  had  taught 
Grisell  something. 

And  thus  as  time  went  on  Grisell  led  no  un- 
happy life.  Every  one  around  was  used  to  her 
scars,  and  took  no  notice  of  them,  and  there  was 
nothing  to  bring  the  thought  before  her,  except 
now  and  then  when  a  fishwife's  baby,  brought  to 
her  for  cure,  would  scream  at  her.  She  never 
went  beyond  the  castle  except  to  mass,  now  and 
then  to  visit  a  sick  person,  and  to  seek  some  of 
the  herbs  of  which  she  had  learnt  the  use,  and 
then  she  was  always  attended  by  Thora  and  Rid- 
ley, who  made  a  great  favour  of  going. 


XI  BERNARD  117 

Bernard  had  given  her  the  greater  part  of  his 
heart,  and  she  soothed  his  pain,  made  his  hours 
happy,  and  taught  him  the  knowledge  she  brought 
from  the  convent.  Her  affections  were  with  him, 
and  though  her  mother  could  scarcely  be  said  to 
love  her,  she  tolerated  and  depended  more  and 
more  on  the  daughter  who  alone  could  give  her 
help  or  solace. 

That  was  Grisell's  second  victory,  when  she 
was  actually  asked  to  compound  a  warm,  relish- 
ing, hot  bowl  for  her  father  when  he  was  caught 
in  a  storm  and  came  in  drenched  and  weary. 

She  wanted  to  try  on  her  little  brother  the  effect 
of  one  of  Sister  Avice's  ointments,  which  she 
thought  more  likely  to  be  efficacious  than  melted 
mutton  fat,  mixed  with  pounded  worms,  scrapings 
from  the  church  bells,  and  boiled  seaweed,  but 
some  of  her  ingredients  were  out  of  reach,  unless 
they  were  attainable  at  Sunderland,  and  she  ob- 
tained permission  to  ride  thither  under  the  escort 
of  Cuthbert  Ridley,  and  was  provided  with  a  small 
purse  —  the  proceeds  of  the  Baron's  dues  out  of 
the  fishermen's  sales  of  herrings. 

She  was  also  to  purchase  a  warm  gown  and 
mantle  for  her  mother,  and  enough  of  cloth  to 
afford  winter  garments  for  Bernard ;  and  a  steady 
old  pack-horse  carried  the  bundles  of  yarn  to  be 


118  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

exchanged  for  these  commodities,  since  the 
Whitburn  household  possessed  no  member  dex- 
terous with  the  old  disused  loom,  and  the  itinerant 
weavers  did  not  come  that  way  —  it  was  whis- 
pered because  they  were  afraid  of  the  fisher  folk, 
and  got  but  sorry  cheer  from  the  lady. 

The  commissions  were  important,  and  Grisell 
enjoyed  the  two  miles'  ride  along  the  cliffs  of 
Roker  Bay,  looking  up  at  the  curious  caverns  in 
the  rock,  and  seeking  for  the  very  strangely- 
formed  stones  supposed  to  have  magic  power, 
which  fell  from  the  rock.  In  the  distance  beyond 
the  river  to  the  southward,  Ridley  pointed  to  the 
tall  square  tower  of  Monks  Wearmouth  Church 
dominating  the  great  monastery  around  it,  which 
had  once  held  the  venerable  Bede,  though  to  both 
Ridley  and  Grisell  he  was  only  a  name  of  a  patron 
saint. 

The  harbour  formed  by  the  mouth  of  the  river 
Wear  was  a  marvel  to  Grisell,  crowded  as  it  was 
with  low,  squarely-rigged  and  gaily-coloured 
vessels  of  Holland,  Friesland,  and  Flanders,  very 
new  sights  to  one  best  acquainted  with  Noah's 
ark  or  St.  Peter's  ship  in  illuminations. 

'Sunderland  is  a  noted  place  for  shipbuilding,' 
said  Ridley.  'Moreover,  these  come  for  wool, 
salt-fish,  and  our  earth  coal,  and  they  bring  us 


XI  BEENARD  119 

fine  cloth,  linen,  and  stout  armour.  I  am  glad  to 
see  yonder  Flemish  ensign.  If  luck  goes  well 
with  us,  I  shall  get  a  fresh  pair  of  gauntlets  for 
my  lord,  straight  from  Gaunt,  the  place  of  gloves. ' 

'  Gant  for  glove, '  said  Grisell. 

'How?  You  speak  French.  Then  you  may 
aid  me  in  chaffering,  and  I  will  straight  to  the 
Fleming,  with  whom  I  may  do  better  than  with 
Hodge  of  the  Lamb.  How  now,  here's  a  shower 
coming  up  fast! ' 

It  was  so  indeed;  a  heavy  cloud  had  risen 
quickly,  and  was  already  bursting  overhead. 
Ridley  hurried  on,  along  a  thoroughfare  across 
salt  marshes  (nowdocks),  but  the  speed  was  not 
enough  to  prevent  their  being  drenched  by  a 
torrent  of  rain  and  hail  before  they  reached  the 
tall-timbered  houses  of  Wearmouth. 

'In  good  time! '  cried  Ridley;  'here's  the  Poti- 
cary's  sign !     You  had  best  halt  here  at  once.' 

In  front  of  a  high-roofed  house  with  a  project- 
ing upper  story,  hung  a  sign  bearing  a  green  ser- 
pent on  a  red  ground,  over  a  stall,  open  to  the 
street,  which  the  owner  was  sheltering  with  a  deep 
canvas  awning. 

'Hola,  Master  Lambert  Groats,'  called  Ridley. 
'Here's  the  young  demoiselle  of  Whitburn  would 
have  some  dealings  with  you. ' 


120  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

Jumping  off  his  horse,  he  helped  Grisell  to  dis- 
mount just  as  a  small,  keen-faced,  elderly  man  in 
dark  gown  came  forward,  doffing  his  green  velvet 
cap,  and  hoping  the  young  lady  would  take  shelter 
in  his  poor  house. 

Grisell,  glancing  round  the  little  booth,  was 
aware  of  sundry  marvellous  curiosities  hanging 
round,  such  as  a  dried  crocodile,  the  shells  of 
tortoises,  of  sea-urchins  and  crabs,  all  to  her  eyes 
most  strange  and  weird;  but  Master  Lambert  was 
begging  her  to  hasten  in  at  once  to  his  dwelling- 
room  beyond,  and  let  his  wife  dry  her  clothes,  and 
at  once  there  came  forward  a  plump,  smooth, 
pleasant-looking  personage,  greatly  his  junior, 
dressed  in  a  tight  gold-edged  cap  over  her  fair 
hair,  a  dark  skirt,  black  bodice,  bright  apron,  and 
white  sleeves,  curtseying  low,  but  making  signs 
to  invite  the  newcomers  to  the  fire  on  the  hearth. 
'My  housewife  is  stone  deaf,'  explained  their  host, 
'and  she  knows  no  tongue  save  her  own,  and  the 
unspoken  language  of  courtesy,  but  she  is  rejoiced, 
to  welcome  the  demoiselle.  Ah,  she  is  drenched! 
Ah,  if  she  will  honour  my  poor  house !  ' 

The  wife  curtsied  low,  and  by  hospitable  signs 
prayed  the  demoiselle  to  come  to  the  fire,  and  take 
off  her  wet  mantle.  It  was  a  very  comfortable 
room,  with  a  wide  chimney,  and  deep  windows 


XI  BERNARD  121 

glazed  with  thick  circles  of  glass,  the  spaces  be- 
tween leaded  around  in  diamond  panes,  through 
which  vine  branches  could  dimly  be  seen  flapping 
and  beating  in  the  storm.  A  table  stood  under 
one  with  various  glasses  and  vessels  of  curious 
shapes,  and  a  big  book,  and  at  the  other  was  a  dis- 
taff, a  work-basket,  and  other  feminine  gear. 
Shelves  with  pewter  dishes,  and  red,  j^ellow,  and 
striped  crocks,  surrounded  the  walls;  there  was  a 
savoury  cauldron  on  the  open  fire.  It  was  evi- 
dently sitting-room  and  kitchen  in  one,  with  offices 
beyond,  and  Grisell  was  at  once  installed  in  a  fine 
carved  chair  by  the  fire  —  a  more  comfortable  seat 
than  had  ever  fallen  to  her  share. 

'Look  you  here,  mistress,'  said  Ridley;  'you  are 
in  safe  quarters  here,  and  I  will  leave  you  awhile, 
take  the  horses  to  the  hostel,  and  do  mine  errands 
across  the  river  —  'tis  not  fit  for  you  —  and  come 
back  to  you  when  the  shower  is  over,  and  you  can 
come  and  chaffer  for  your  woman's  gear.' 

From  the  two  good  hosts  the  welcome  was  de- 
cided, and  Grisell  was  glad  to  have  time  for  con- 
sultation. An  Apothecary  of  those  days  did  not 
rise  to  the  dignity  of  a  leech,  but  was  more  like 
the  present  owner  of  a  chemist's  shop,  though  a 
chemist  then  meant  something  much  more  ab- 
struse, who  studied  occult  sciences,  such  as 
alchemy  and  astrology. 


122  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

In  fact,  Lambert  Groot,  which  was  his  real 
name,  though  English  lips  had  made  it  Groats,  be- 
longed to  one  of  the  prosperous  guilds  of  the  great 
merchant  city  of  Bruges,  but  he  had  offended  his 
family  by  his  determination  to  marry  the  deaf,  and 
almost  dumb,  portionless  orphan  daughter  of  an 
old  friend  and  contemporary,  and  to  save  her  from 
the  scorn  and  slights  of  his  relatives  —  though  she 
was  quite  as  well-born  as  themselves  —  he  had 
migrated  to  England,  where  Wearmouth  and  Sun- 
derland had  a  brisk  trade  with  the  Low  Countries. 
These  cities  enjoyed  the  cultivation  of  the  period, 
and  this  room,  daintily  clean  and  fresh,  seemed  to 
Grisell  more  luxurious  than  any  she  had  seen 
since  the  Countess  of  Warwick's.  A  silver  bowl 
of  warm  soup,  extracted  from  the  pot  au  feu^  was 
served  to  her  by  the  Hausfrau,  on  a  little  table, 
spread  with  a  fine  white  cloth  edged  with  em- 
broidery, with  an  earnest  gesture  begging  her  to 
partake,  and  a  slender  Venice  glass  of  wine  tvas 
brought  to  her  with  a  cake  of  wheaten  bread. 
Much  did  Grisell  wish  she  could  have  transferred 
such  refreshing  fare  to  Bernard.  She  ventured  to 
ask  'Master  Poticary  '  whether  he  sold  'Balsam  of 
Egypt.'  He  was  interested  at  once,  and  asked 
whether  it  were  for  her  own  use. 

'Nay,   good   master,   you   are   thinking   of  my 


XI  BERNAED  123 

face ;  but  that  was  a  burn  long  ago  healed.  It  is 
for  my  poor  little  brother.' 

Therewith  Grisell  and  Master  Groats  entered  on 
a  discussions  of  symptoms,  drugs,  ointments,  and 
ingredients,  in  which  she  learnt  a  good  deal  and 
perhaps  disclosed  more  of  Sister  A  vice's  methods 
than  Wilton  might  have  approved.  In  the  midst 
the  sun  broke  out  gaily  after  the  shower,  and  dis- 
closed, beyond  the  window,  a  garden  where  every 
leaf  and  spray  were  glittering  and  glorious  with 
their  own  diamond  drops  in  the  sunshine.  A 
garden  of  herbs  was  a  needful  part  of  an  apothe- 
cary's business,  as  he  manufactured  for  himself  all 
of  the  medicaments  which  he  did  not  import  from 
foreign  parts,  but  this  had  been  laid  out  between 
its  high  walls  with  all  the  care,  taste,  and  precision 
of  the  Netherlander,  and  Grisell  exclaimed  in  per- 
fect ecstasy:  'Oh,  the  garden,  the  garden!  I 
have  seen  nothing  so  fair  and  sweet  since  I  left 
Wilton.' 

Master  Lambert  was  delighted,  and  led  her  out. 
There  is  no  describing  how  refreshing  was  the 
sight  to  eyes  after  the  bare,  dry  walls  of  the  castle, 
and  the  tossing  sea  which  the  maiden  had  not  yet 
learnt  to  love.  Nor  was  the  garden  dull,  though 
meant  for  use.  There  was  a  well  in  the  centre 
with  roses  trained  over  it,  roses  of  the  dark  old 


124  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

damask  kind  and  the  dainty  musk,  used  to  be  dis- 
tilled for  the  eyes,  some  flowers  lingering  still; 
there  was  the  brown  dittany  or  fraxinella,  whose 
dried  blossoms  are  phosphoric  at  night;  delicate 
pink  centaury,  good  for  ague;  purple  mallows, 
good  for  wounds;  leopard's  bane  with  yellow 
blossoms;  many  and  many  more  old  and  dear 
friends  of  Grisell,  redolent  of  Wilton  cloister  and 
Sister  Avice ;  and  she  ran  from  one  to  the  other 
quite  transported,  and  forgetful  of  all  the  digni- 
ties of  the  young  Lady  of  Whitburn,  while  Lam- 
bert was  delighted,  and  hoped  she  would  come 
again  when  his  lilies  were  in  bloom. 

So  went  the  time  till  Ridley  returned,  and  when 
the  price  was  asked  of  the  packet  of  medicaments 
prepared  for  her,  Lambert  answered  that  the  value 
was  fully  balanced  by  what  he  had  learnt  from  the 
lady.  This,  however,  did  not  suit  the  honour  of 
the  Dacres,  and  Grisell,  as  well  as  her  squire, 
Avho  looked  offended,  insisted  on  leaving  two 
gold  crowns  in  payment.  The  Vrow  kissed  her 
hand,  putting  into  it  the  last  sprays  of  roses, 
which  Grisell  cherished  in  her  bosom. 

She  was  then  conducted  to  a  booth  kept  by  a 
Dutchman,  where  she  obtained  the  warm  winter 
garments  that  she  needed  for  her  mother  and 
brother,  and  likewise  some  linen,  for  the  Lady  of 


XI  BERNARD  125 

Whitburn  had  never  been  housewife  enough  to 
keep  up  a  sufficient  supply  for  Bernard,  and  Gri- 
sell  was  convinced  that  the  cleanliness  which  the 
nuns  had  taught  her  would  mitigate  his  troubles. 
With  Thora  to  wash  for  her  she  hoped  to  institute 
a  new  order  of  things. 

Much  pleased  with  her  achievements  she  rode 
home.  She  was  met  there  by  more  grumbling 
than  satisfaction.  Her  father  had  expected  more 
coin  to  send  to  Robert,  who,  like  other  absent 
youths,  called  for  supplies. 

The  yeoman  who  had  gone  with  him  returned, 
bearing  a  scrap  of  paper  with  the  words :  — 

'Mine  honoured  Lord  and  Father  —  I  pray 
you  to  send  me  Black  Lightning  and  xvj  crowns 
by  the  hand  of  Ralf,  and  so  the  Saints  have  you 
in  their  keeping.  —  Your  dutiful  sonne, 

'Robert  Dacre.' 

xvj  crowns  were  a  heavy  sum  in  those  days,  and 
Lord  Whitburn  vowed  that  he  had  never  so  called 
on  his  father  except  when  he  was  knighted,  but 
those  were  the  good  old  days  when  spoil  was  to  be 
won  in  France.  What  could  Rob  want  of  such  a 
sum? 

'Well-a-day,  sir,  the  house  of  the  Duke  of  York 
is  no  place  to  stint  in.  The  two  young  Earls  of 
March  and  of  Rutland,  as  they  call  them,  walk  in 


126  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap,  xi 

red  and  blue  and  gold  bravery,  and  chains  of  jew- 
els, even  like  king's  sons,  and  none  of  the  squires 
and  pages  can  be  behind  them. ' 

'Black  Lightning  too,  my  best  colt,  when  I 
deemed  the  lad  fitted  out  for  years  to  come.  I 
never  sent  home  the  like  message  to  my  father 
under  the  last  good  King  Henry,  but  purveyed 
myself  of  a  horse  on  the  battlefield  more  than  once. 
But  those  good  old  days  are  over,  and  lads  think 
more  of  velvet  and  broidery  than  of  lances  and 
swords.  Forsooth,  their  coats-of-arms  are  good  to 
wear  on  silk  robes  instead  of  helm  and  shield ;  and 
as  to  our  maids,  give  them  their  rein,  and  they 
spend  more  than  all  the  rest  on  women's  tawdry 
gear! ' 

Poor  Grisell!  when  she  had  bought  nothing 
ornamental,  and  nothing  for  herself  except  a  few 
needles. 

However,  in  spite  of  murmurs,  the  xvj  crowns 
were  raised  and  sent  away  with  Black  Lightning; 
and  as  time  went  on  Grisell  became  more  and  more 
a  needful  person.  Bernard  was  stronger,  and 
even  rode  out  on  a  pony,  and  the  fame  of  his  im- 
provement brought  other  patients  to  the  Lady 
Grisell  from  the  vassals,  with  whom  she  dealt  as 
best  she  might,  successfully  or  the  reverse,  while 
her  mother,  as  her  health  failed,  let  fall  more  and 
more  the  reins  of  household  rule. 


CHAPTER   XII 

WOED   FKOM  THE   WAES 

Above,  below,  the  Rose  of  Snow, 
Twined  with  her  bhishing  face  we  spread. 

Gray's  Bard. 

News  did  not  travel  very  fast  to  Whitburn, 
but  one  summer's  day  a  tall,  gallant,  fair-faced 
esquire,  in  full  armour  of  the  cumbrous  plate 
fashion,  rode  up  to  the  gate,  and  blew  the  family 
note  on  his  bugle. 

'My  son!  my  son  Rob,'  cried  the  lady,  starting 
up  from  the  cushions  with  which  Grisell  had  fur- 
nished her  settle. 

Robert  it  was,  who  came  clanking  in,  met  by 
his  father  at  the  gate,  by  his  mother  at  the  door, 
and  by  Bernard  on  his  crutch  in  the  rear,  while 
Grisell,  who  had  never  seen  this  brother,  hung 
back. 

The  youth  bent  his  knee,  but  his  outward  cour- 
tesy did  not  conceal  a  good  deal  of  contempt  for 
the  rude  northern  habits.  'How  small  and  dark 
the  hall  is !     My  lady,  how  old  you  have  grown ! 

127 


128  G-KISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

What,  Bernard,  still  fit  only  for  a  shaven  friar! 
Not  shorn  yet,  eh?  Ha!  is  that  Grisell?  St. 
Cuthbert  to  wit!  Copeland  has  made  a  hag  of 
her!' 

"Tis  a  good  maid  none  the  less,'  replied  her 
father;  the  first  direct  praise  that  she  had  ever 
had  from  him,  and  which  made  her  heart  glow. 

'She  will  ne'er  get  a  husband,  with  such  a  vis- 
age as  that, '  observed  Robert,  who  did  not  seem 
to  have  learnt  courtesy  or  forbearance  yet  on  his 
travels ;  but  he  was  soon  telling  his  father  what 
concerned  them  far  more  than  the  maiden's  fate. 

'Sir,  I  have  come  on  the  part  of  the  Duke  of 
York  to  summon  you.  What,  you  have  not 
heard?  He  needs,  as  speedily  as  may  be,  the 
arms  of  every  honest  man.  How  many  can  you 
get  together  ? ' 

'But  what  is  it?  How  is  it?  Your  Duke  ruled 
the  roast  last  time  I  heard  of  him. ' 

'You  know  as  little  as  my  horse  here  in  the 
north ! '  cried  Kob. 

'This  I  did  hear  last  time  there  was  a  boat  come 
in,  that  the  Queen,  that  mother  of  mischief,  had 
tried  to  lay  hands  on  our  Lord  of  Salisbury,  and 
that  he  and  ^^our  Duke  of  York  had  soundly  beaten 
her  and  the  men  of  Cheshire. ' 

'Yea,  at  Blore  Heath;  and  I  thought  to  win  my 


XII  WORD  FROM  THE   WARS  129 

spurs  on  the  Copeland  banner,  but  even  as  I  was 
making  my  way  to  it  and  the  recreant  that  bore  it, 
I  was  stricken  across  my  steel  cap  and  dazed. ' 

'I'll  warrant  it,'  muttered  his  father. 

'When  I  could  look  up  again  all  was  changed, 
the  banner  nowhere  in  sight,  but  I  kept  my 
saddle,  and  cut  down  half  a  dozen  rascaille  after 
that.' 

'Ha! '  half  incredulously,  for  it  was  a  mere  boy 
who  boasted.  'That's  my  brave  lad!  And  what 
then  ?     More  hopes  of  the  spurs,  eh  ?  ' 

'Then  what  does  the  Queen  do,  but  seeing  that 
no  one  would  willingly  stir  a  lance  against  an  old 
witless  saint  like  King  Harry,  she  gets  a  host 
together,  dragging  the  poor  man  hither  and  thither 
with  her,  at  Ludlow.  Nay,  we  even  heard  the 
King  was  dead,  and  a  mass  was  said  for  the  repose 
of  his  soul,  but  with  the  morning  what  should  we 
see  on  the  other  side  of  the  river  Teme  but  the 
royal  standard,  and  who  should  be  under  it  but 
King  Harry  himself  with  his  meek  face  and  fair 
locks,  twirling  his  fingers  after  his  wont.  So  the 
men  would  have  it  that  they  had  been  gulled,  and 
they  fell  away  one  after  another,  till  there  was 
nothing  for  it  but  for  the  Duke  and  his  sons,  and 
my  Lords  of  Salisbury  and  Warwick  and  a  few 
score  more  of  us,  to  ride  off  as  best  we  might. 


130  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

with  Sir  Andrew  Trollope  and  his  men  after  us, 
as  hard  as  might  be,  so  that  we  had  to  break  up, 
and  keep  few  together.  I  went  with  the  Duke 
of  York  and  young  Lord  Edmund  into  Wales,  and 
thence  in  a  bit  of  a  fishing-boat  across  to  Ireland. 
Ask  me  to  fight  in  full  field  with  twice  the  num- 
bers, but  never  ask  me  to  put  to  sea  again  I  There's 
nothing  like  it  for  taking  heart  and  soul  out  of  a 
man! ' 

'I  have  crossed  the  sea  often  enow  in  the  good 
old  days,  and  known  nothing  worse  than  a  qualm 
or  two. ' 

'That  was  to  France,'  said  his  son.  'This  Irish 
Sea  is  far  wider  and  far  more  tossing,  I  know  for 
my  own  part.  I'd  have  given  a  knight's  fee  to 
any  one  who  would  have  thrown  me  overboard.  I 
felt  like  an  empty  bag!  But  once  there,  they  could 
not  make  enough  of  us.  The  Duke  had  got  their 
hearts  before,  and  odd  sort  of  hearts  they  are.  I 
was  deaf  with  the  wild  kernes  shouting  round 
about  in  their  gibberish  —  such  figures,  too,  as 
they  are,  with  their  blue  cloaks,  streaming  hair, 
and  long  glibbes  (moustaches),  and  the  Lords  of 
the  Pale,  as  they  call  the  English  sort,  are  nigh 
about  as  wild  and  savage  as  the  mere  Irish.  It 
was  as  much  as  my  Lord  Duke  could  do  to  hinder 
two  of  them  from  coming  to  blows  in  his  presence ; 


xii  WOED   FROM  THE   WARS  131 

and  you  should  have  heard  them  howl  at  one 
another.  However,  they  are  all  with  him,  and  a 
mighty  force  of  them  mean  to  go  back  with  him 
to  England.  My  Lord  of  Warwick  came  from 
Calais  to  hold  counsel  with  him,  and  they  have 
sworn  to  one  another  to  meet  with  all  their  forces, 
and  require  the  removal  of  the  King's  evil  coun- 
cillors ;  and  my  Lord  Duke,  with  his  own  mouth, 
bade  me  go  and  summon  his  trusty  Will  Dacre  of 
Whitburn  —  so  he  spake,  sir — to  be  with  him 
with  all  the  spears  and  bowmen  you  can  raise  or 
call  for  among  the  neighbours.  And  it  is  my 
belief,  sir,  that  he  means  not  to  stop  at  the  coun- 
cillois,  but  to  put  forth  his  rights.  Hurrah  for 
King  Richard  of  the  White  Rose ! '  ended  Robert, 
throwing  up  his  cap. 

'Nay,  now,'  said  his  father.  'I'd  be  loth  to 
put  down  our  gallant  King  Harry's  only  son.' 

'No  one  breathes  a  word  against  King  Harry, ' 
returned  Robert,  'no  more  than  against  a  carven 
saint  in  a  church,  and  he  is  about  as  much  of  a 
king  as  old  stone  King  Edmund,  or  King  Oswald, 
or  whoever  he  is,  over  the  porch.  He  is  welcome 
to  reign  as  long  as  he  likes  or  lives,  provided  he 
lets  our  Duke  govern  for  him,  and  rids  the  countiy 
of  the  foreign  woman  and  her  brat,  who  is  no  more 
hers  than  I  am,  but  a  mere  babe  of  Westminster 


132  GRISLY   GEISELL  chap. 

town  carried  into  the  palace  when  the  poor  King 
Harry  was  beside  himself.' 

'Nay,  now,  Rob!  '  cried  his  mother. 

'So  'tis  said!'  sturdily  persisted  Rob.  "Tis 
well  known  that  the  King  never  looked  at  him  the 
first  time  he  was  shown  the  little  imp,  and  next 
time,  when  he  was  not  so  distraught,  he  lifted  up 
his  hands  and  said  he  wotted  nought  of  the  matter. 
Hap  what  hap,  King  Harry  may  roam  from  Church 
to  shrine,  from  Abbey  to  chantry,  so  long  as  he 
lists,  but  none  of  us  will  brook  to  be  ruled  or 
misruled  by  the  foreign  woman  and  the  Beauforts 
in  his  name,  nor  reigned  over  by  the  French  dame 
or  the  beggar's  brat,  and  the  traitor  coward  Beau- 
fort, but  be  under  our  own  noble  Duke  and  the 
White  Rose,  the  only  badge  that  makes  the 
Frenchman  flee.' 

The  boy  was  scarcely  fifteen,  but  his  political 
tone,  as  of  one  who  knew  the  world,  made  his 
father  laugh  and  say,  'Hark  to  the  cockerel  crow- 
ing loud.     Spurs  forsooth! ' 

'The  Lords  Edward  and  Edmund  are  knighted,' 
grunted  Rob,  'and  there's  but  few  years  betwixt 
us.' 

'But  a  good  many  earldoms  and  lands,'  said 
the  Baron.  'Hadst  spoken  of  being  out  of  page- 
dom,  'twere  another  thing.' 


XII  WORD   FROM  THE    WARS  133 

'You  are  coming,  sir,'  cried  Rob,  willing  to 
put  by  the  subject.  'You  are  coming  to  see  how 
I  can  win  honours.' 

'Aye,  aye,'  said  his  father.  'When  Nevil  calls, 
then  must  Dacre  come,  though  his  old  bones 
might  well  be  at  rest  now.  Salisbury  and  War- 
wick taking  to  flight  like  attainted  traitors  to 
please  the  foreign  woman,  saidst  thou  ?  Then  it 
is  time  true  men  were  in  the  saddle. ' 

'Well  I  knew  you  would  say  so,  and  so  I  told 
my  lord,'  exclaimed  Robert. 

'Thou  didst,  quotha?  Without  doubt  the 
Duke  was  greatly  reassured  by  thy  testimony,' 
said  his  father  drily,  while  the  mother,  full  of 
pride  and  exultation  in  her  goodly  firstborn  son, 
could  not  but  exclaim,  'Daunt  him  not,  my  lord; 
he  has  done  well  thus  to  be  sent  home  in  charge. ' 

'7  daunt  him?'  returned  Lord  Whitburn,  in 
his  teasing  mood.  'By  his  own  showing  not  a 
troop  of  Somerset's  best  horsemen  could  do  that ! ' 

Therewith  more  amicably,  father  and  son  fell  to 
calculations  of  resources,  which  they  kept  up  all 
through  supper-time,  and  all  the  evening,  till  the 
names  of  Hobs,  Wills,  Dicks,  and  the  like  rang 
like  a  repeating  echo  in  Grisell's  ears.  All 
through  those  long  days  of  summer  the  father  and 
son  were  out  incessantly,  riding  from  one  tenant 


134  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

or  neighbour  to  another,  trying  to  raise  men-at- 
arms  and  means  to  equip  them  if  raised.  All  the 
dues  on  the  herring-boats  and  the  two  whalers,  on 
which  Grisell  had  reckoned  for  the  winter  needs, 
were  pledged  to  Sunderland  merchants  for  armour 
and  weapons ;  the  colts  running  wild  on  the  moors 
were  hastily  caught,  and  reduced  to  a  kind  of 
order  by  rough  breaking  in.  The  women  of  the 
castle  and  others  requisitioned  from  the  village 
toiled  under  the  superintendence  of  the  lady  and 
Grisell  at  preparing  such  provision  and  equip- 
ments as  were  portable,  such  as  dried  fish,  salted 
meat,  and  barley  cakes,  as  well  as  linen,  and  there 
was  a  good  deal  of  tailoring  of  a  rough  sort  at 
jerkins,  buff  coats,  and  sword  belts,  not  by  any 
means  the  gentle  work  of  embroidering  pennons 
or  scarves  notable  in  romance. 

'Besides,'  scoffed  Robert,  'who  would  wear 
Grisly  Grisell's  scarf! ' 

'I  would,'  manfully  shouted  Bernard ;  'I  would 
cram  it  down  the  throat  of  that  recreant  Copeland. ' 

'Oh!  hush,  hush,  Bernard,'  exclaimed  Grisell, 
who  was  toiling  with  aching  fingers  at  the  repairs 
of  her  father's  greasy  old  buff  coat.  'Such  things 
are,  as  Robin  well  says,  for  noble  demoiselles  with 
fair  faces  and  leisure  times  like  the  Lady  Mar- 
garet.    And  oh,  Robin,  you  have  never  told  me 


XII  WORD  FROM  THE   WARS  135 

of  the  Lady  Margaret,  my  dear  mate  at  Ames- 
bury.  ' 

'What  should  I  know  of  your  Lady  Margarets 
and  such  gear,'  growled  Robin,  whose  chivalry 
had  not  reached  the  point  of  caring  for  ladies. 

'The  Lady  Margaret  Plantagenet,  the  3"oung 
Lady  Margaret  of  York, '  Grisell  explained. 

'Oh!  That's  what  you  mean  is  it?  There's  a 
whole  troop  of  wenches  at  the  high  table  in  hall. 
They  came  after  us  with  the  Duchess  as  soon  as 
we  were  settled  in  Trim  Castle,  but  they  are  kept 
as  demure  and  mim  as  may  be  in  my  lady's 
bower;  and  there's  a  pretty  sharp  eye  kept  on 
them.  Some  of  the  young  squires  who  are  fools 
enough  to  hanker  after  a  few  maids  or  look  at  the 
fairer  ones  get  their  noses  well-nigh  pinched  off 
by  Proud  Cis's  Mother  of  the  Maids.' 

'Then  it  would  not  avail  to  send  poor  Grisell's 
greetings  by  you. ' 

'I  should  like  to  see  myself  delivering  them! 
Besides,  we  shall  meet  my  lord  in  camp,  with  no 
cumbrance  of  woman  gear. ' 

Lord  Whitburn's  own  castle  was  somewhat  of  a 
perplexity  to  him,  for  though  his  lady  had  once 
been  quite  sufficient  captain  for  his  scanty  garri- 
son, she  was  in  too  uncertain  health,  and  what 
was  worse,  too  much  broken  in  spirit  and  courage, 


136  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap,  xii 

to  be  fit  for  the  charge.  He  therefore  decided  on 
leaving  Cuthbert  Ridley,  who,  in  winter  at  least, 
was  scarcely  as  capable  of  roughing  it  as  of  old, 
to  protect  the  castle,  with  a  few  old  or  partly 
disabled  men,  who  could  man  the  walls  to  some 
degree,  therefore  it  was  unlikely  that  there  would 
be  any  attack. 

So  on  a  May  morning  the  old,  weather-beaten 
Dacre  pennon  with  its  three  crusading  scallop- 
shells,  was  uplifted  in  the  court,  and  round  it 
mustered  about  thirty  men,  of  whom  eighteen  had 
been  raised  by  the  baron,  some  being  his  own 
vassals,  and  others  hired  at  Sunderland.  The 
rest  were  volunteers  —  gentlemen,  their  younger 
sons,  and  their  attendants  —  placing  themselves 
under  his  leadership,  either  from  goodwill  to  York 
and  Nevil,  or  from  love  of  enterprise  and  hope 
of  plunder. 


.     CHAPTER   XIII 

A   KNOT 

I  would  mine  heart  had  caught  that  wound 

And  slept  beside  him  rather ! 
1  think  it  were  a  better  thing 
Than  murdered  friend  and  marriage-ring 

Forced  on  my  life  together. 
E.  B.  Browning,  The  Komaunt  of  the  Page. 

Ladies  were  accustomed  to  live  for  weeks, 
months,  nay,  years,  without  news  of  those  whom 
they  had  sent  to  the  wars,  and  to  live  their  life 
without  them.  The  Lady  of  Whitburn  did  not 
expect  to  see  her  husband  or  son  again  till  the 
summer  campaign  was  over,  and  she  was  not  at 
all  uneasy  about  them,  for  the  full  armour  of  a 
gentleman  had  arrived  at  such  a  pitch  of  perfec- 
tion that  it  was  exceedingly  difficult  to  kill  him, 
and  such  was  the  weight,  that  his  danger  in  be- 
ing overthrown  was  of  never  being  able  to  get  up, 
but  lying  there  to  be  smothered,  made  prisoner, 
or  killed,  by  breaking  into  his  armour.  The 
X37 


138  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

kniglits  could  not  have  moved  at  all  under  the 
weight  if  they  had  not  been  trained  from  infancy, 
and  had  nearly  reduced  themselves  to  the  condi- 
tion of  great  tortoises. 

It  was  no  small  surprise  when,  very  late  on  a 
July  evening,  when,  though  twilight  still  pre- 
vailed, all  save  the  warder  were  in  bed,  and  he 
was  asleep  on  his  post,  a  bugle-horn  rang  out  the 
master's  note,  at  first  in  the  usual  tones,  then 
more  loudly  and  impatiently.  Hastening  out  of 
bed  to  her  loop-hole  window,  Grisell  saw  a  party 
beneath  the  walls,  her  father's  scallop-shells  dimly 
seen  above  them,  and  a  little  in  the  rear,  one  who 
was  evidently  a  prisoner. 

The  blasts  grew  fiercer,  the  warder  and  the 
castle  were  beginning  to  be  astir,  and  when 
Grisell  hurried  into  the  outer  room,  she  found  her 
mother  afoot  and  hastily  dressing. 

*My  lord!  my  lord!  it  is  his  note,'  she  cried. 

'Father  come  home!'  shouted  Bernard,  just 
awake.  'Grisly!  Grisly!  help  me  don  my 
clothes.' 

Lady  Whitburn  trembled  and  shook  with  haste, 
and  Grisell  could  not  help  her  very  rapidly  in  the 
dark,  with  Bernard  howling  rather  than  calling 
for  help  all  the  time;  and  before  she,  still  less 
Grisell,  was  fit  for  the  public,  her  father's  heavy 


XIII  A  KNOT  139 

step  was  on  the  stairs,  and  she  heard  fragments  of 
his  words. 

'All  abed!  We  must  have  supper  —  ridden 
from  Ayton  since  last  baiting.  Aye,  got  a  pris- 
oner —  young  Copeland  —  old  one  slain  —  great 
victory  —  Northampton.  King  taken  —  Bucking- 
ham and  Egremont  killed  —  Rob  well  —  proud  as 
a  pyet.  Ho,  Grisell,'  as  she  appeared,  'bestir 
thyself.  We  be  ready  to  eat  a  horse  behind  the 
saddle.     Serve  up  as  fast  as  may  be. ' 

Grisell  durst  not  stop  to  ask  whether  she  had 
heard  the  word  Copeland  aright,  and  ran  down- 
stairs with  a  throbbing  heart,  just  crossing  the 
hall,  where  she  thought  she  saw  a  figure  bowed 
down,  with  hands  over  his  face  and  elbows  on  his 
knees,  but  she  could  not  pause,  and  went  on  to 
the  kitchen,  where  the  peat  fire  was  never  allowed 
to  expire,  and  it  was  easy  to  stir  it  into  heat. 
Whatever  was  cold  she  handed  over  to  the  ser- 
vants to  appease  the  hunger  of  the  arrivals,  while 
she  broiled  steaks,  and  heated  the  great  perennial 
cauldron  of  broth  with  all  the  expedition  in  her 
power,  with  the  help  of  Thora  and  the  grumbling 
cook,  when  he  appeared,  angry  at  being  disturbed. 

Morning  light  was  beginning  to  break  before 
her  toils  were  over  for  the  dozen  hungry  men 
pounced  so  suddenly  in   on  her,  and  when   she 


140  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

again  crossed  the  hall,  most  of  them  were  lying 
on  the  straw-bestreAvn  floor  fast  asleep.  One  she 
specially  noticed,  his  long  limbs  stretched  out 
as  he  lay  on  his  side,  his  head  on  his  arm,  as 
if  he  had  fallen  asleep  from  extreme  fatigue  in 
spite  of  himself. 

His  light  brown  hair  was  short  and  curly,  his 
cheeks  fair  and  ruddy,  and  all  reminded  her  of 
Leonard  Copeland  as  he  had  been  those  long 
years  ago  before  her  accident.  Save  for  that,  she 
would  have  been  long  ago  his  wife,  she  with  her 
marred  face  the  mate  of  that  nobly  fair  counte- 
nance. How  strange  to  remember.  How  she 
would  have  loved  him,  frank  and  often  kind  as 
she  remembered  him,  though  rough  and  impatient 
of  restraint.  What  was  that  which  his  fingers 
had  held  till  sleep  had  unclasped  them?  An 
ivory  chessrook !  Such  was  a  favourite  token  of 
ladies  to  their  true  loves.  What  did  it  mean? 
Might  she  pause  to  pray  a  prayer  over  him  as  once 
hers  — ■  that  all  might  be  well  with  him,  for  she 
knew  that  in  this  unhappy  Avar  important  captives 
were  not  treated  as  Frenchmen  would  have  been 
as  prisoners  of  war,  but  executed  as  traitors  to 
their  King. 

She  paused  over  him  till  a  low  sound  and  the 
bright  eyes  of  one  of  the  dogs  warned  her  that  all 


XIII  A  KNOT  141 

might  in  another  moment  be  awake,  and  she  fled 
up  the  stair  to  the  solar,  where  her  parents  were 
both  fast  asleep,  and  across  to  her  oAvn  room, 
where  she  threw  herself  on  her  bed,  dressed  as  she 
was,  but  could  not  sleep  for  the  multitude  of 
strange  thoughts  that  crowded  over  her  in  the 
increasing  daylight. 

By  and  by  there  was  a  stir,  some  words  passed 
in  the  outer  room,  and  then  her  mother  came  in. 

'Wake,  Grisly.  Busk  and  bonne  for  thy  wed- 
ding-morning instantly.  Copeland  is  to  keep  his 
troth  to  thee  at  once.  The  Earl  of  Warwick  hath 
granted  his  life  to  thy  father  on  that  condition 
only.' 

'Oh,  mother,  is  he  willing?'  cried  Grisell 
trembling. 

'What  skills  that,  child?  His  hand  was 
pledged,  and  he  must  fulfil  his  promise  now  that 
we  have  him.' 

'Was  it  troth?  I  cannot  remember  it,'  said 
Grisell. 

'That  matters  not.  Your  father's  plight  is  the 
same  thing.  His  father  was  slain  in  the  battle, 
so  'tis  between  him  and  us.  Put  on  thy  best 
clothes  as  fast  as  may  be.  Thou  shalt  have  my 
wedding- veil  and  miniver  mantle.  Speed,  I  say. 
My  lord  has  to  hasten  away  to  join  the  Earl  on 


142  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

the  way  to  London.     He  will  see  the  knot  tied 
beyond  loosing  at  once.' 

To  dress  herself  was  all  poor  Grisell  could  do 
in  her  bewilderment.  Remonstrance  was  vain. 
The  actual  marriage  without  choice  was  not  so 
repugnant  to  all  her  feelings  as  to  a  modern 
maiden;  it  was  the  ordinary  destiny  of  woman- 
hood, and  she  had  been  used  in  her  childhood  to 
look  on  Leonard  Copeland  as  her  property;  but 
to  be  forced  on  the  poor  youth  instantly  on  his 
father's  death,  and  as  an  alternative  to  execution, 
set  all  her  maidenly  feelings  in  revolt.  Bernard 
was  sitting  up  in  bed,  crying  out  that  he  could 
not  lose  his  Grisly.  Her  mother  was  running 
backwards  and  forwards,  bringing  portions  of  her 
own  bridal  gear,  and  directing  Thora,  who  was 
combing  out  her  young  lady's  hair,  which  was 
long,  of  a  beautiful  brown,  and  was  to  be  worn 
loose  and  flowing,  in  the  bridal  fashion.  Grisell 
longed  to  kneel  and  pray,  but  her  mother  hurried 
her.  'My  lord  must  not  be  kept  waiting,  there 
would  be  time  enough  for  prayer  in  the  church. ' 
Then  Bernard,  clamouring  loudly,  threw  his  arms 
round  the  thick  old  heavy  silken  gown  that  had 
been  put  on  her,  and  declared  that  he  would  not 
part  with  his  Grisly,  and  his  mother  tore  him 
away  by  force,  declaring  that  he  need  not  fear. 


XIII  A  KNOT  143 

Copeland  would  be  in  no  hurry  to  take  her  away, 
and  again  when  she  bent  to  kiss  him  he  clung 
tight  round  her  neck  almost  strangling  her,  and 
rumpling  her  tresses. 

Ridley  had  come  up  to  say  that  my  lord  was 
calling  for  the  young  lady,  and  it  was  he  who  took 
the  boy  off  and  held  him  in  his  arms,  as  the  mother, 
who  seemed  endued  with  new  strength  by  the 
excitement,  threw  a  large  white  muffling  veil  over 
Grisell's  head  and  shoulders,  and  led  or  rather 
dragged  her  doAvn  to  the  hall. 

The  first  sounds  she  there  heard  were,  'Sir,  I 
have  given  my  faith  to  the  Lady  Eleanor  of 
Audley,  whom  I  love.' 

'What  is  that  to  me?  'Twas  a  precontract  to 
my  daughter.' 

'Not  made  by  me  nor  her.' 

'By  your  parents,  with  myself.  You  went  near 
to  being  her  death  outright,  marred  her  face  for 
life,  so  that  none  other  will  wed  her.  What  say 
you  ?  Not  hurt  by  your  own  will  ?  Who  said  it 
was  ?     What  matters  that  ? ' 

'Sir,'  said  Leonard,  'it  is  true  that  by  mishap, 
nay,  if  you  will  have  it  so,  by  a  child's  inadver- 
tence, I  caused  this  evil  chance  to  befall  your 
daughter,  but  I  deny,  and  my  father  denies  like- 
wise, that  there  was  any  troth  plight  between  the 


144  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

maid  and  me.  She  will  own  the  same  if  you  ask 
her.  As  I  spake  before,  there  was  talk  of  the  like 
kind  between  you,  sir,  and  my  father,  and  it  was 
the  desire  of  the  good  King  that  thus  the  families 
might  be  reconciled;  but  the  contract  went  no 
farther,  as  the  holy  King  himself  owned  when  I 
gave  my  faith  to  the  Lord  Audley's  daughter,  and 
with  it  my  heart. ' 

'Aye,  we  know  that  the  Frenchwoman  can  make 
the  poor  fool  of  a  King  believe  and  avouch  any- 
thing she  choose!  This  is  not  the  point.  No 
more  words,  young  man.  Here  stands  my  daugh- 
ter; there  is  the  rope.     Choose  —  wed  or  hang.' 

Leonard  stood  one  moment  with  a  look  of 
agonised  perplexity  over  his  face.  Then  he  said, 
'If  I  consent,  am  I  at  liberty,  free  at  once  to 
depart  ? ' 

'Aye, '  said  Whitburn.  'So  you  fulfil  your  con- 
tract, the  rest  is  nought  to  me. ' 

'I  am  then  at  liberty?  Free  to  carry  my  sword 
to  my  Queen  and  King  ?  ' 

'Free.' 

'You  swear  it,  on  the  holy  cross? ' 

Lord  Whitburn  held  up  the  cross  hilt  of  his 
sword  before  him,  and  made  oath  on  it  that  when 
once  married  to  his  daughter,  Leonard  Copeland 
was  no  longer  his  prisoner. 


xiii  A  KNOT  145 

Grisell  through  her  veil  read  on  the  youthful 
face  a  look  of  grief  and  renunciation;  he  was 
sacrificing  his  love  to  the  needs  of  King  and  coun- 
try, and  his  words  chimed  in  with  her  conviction. 

'Sir,  I  am  ready.  If  it  were  myself  alone,  I 
would  die  rather  than  be  false  to  my  love,  but  my 
Queen  needs  good  swords  and  faithful  hearts,  and 
I  may  not  fail  her.     I  am  ready ! ' 

'It  is  well!'  said  Lord  Whitburn.  'Ho,  you 
there !     Bring  the  horses  to  the  door. ' 

Grisell,  in  all  the  strange  suspense  of  that  de- 
cision, had  been  thinking  of  Sir  Gawaine,  whose 
lines  rang  in  her  head,  but  that  look  of  grief 
roused  other  feelings.  Sir  Gawaine  had  no  other 
love  to  sacrifice. 

'Sir!  sir!  '  she  cried,  as  her  father  turned  to 
bid  her  mount  the  pillion  behind  Ridley.  'Can 
you  not  let  him  go  free  without?  I  always  looked 
to  a  cloister.' 

'That  is  for  you  and  he  to  settle,  girl.  Obey 
me  now,  or  it  will  be  the  worse  for  him  and  you. ' 

'One  word  I  would  say,'  added  the  mother. 
'How  far  hath  this  matter  with  the  Audley  maid 
gone  ?     There  is  no  froth  plight,  I  trow  ?  ' 

'No,  by  all  that  is  holy,  no.  Would  the  lad 
not  have  pleaded  it  if  there  had  been  ?  No  more 
dilly-dallying.       Up   on   the   horse,    Grisly,   and 


146  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

have  done  with  it.  We  will  show  the  young 
recreant  how  promises  are  kept  in  Durham 
County. ' 

He  dragged  rather  than  led  his  daughter  to  the 
door,  and  lifted  her  passively  to  the  pillion  seat 
behind  Cuthbert  Ridley.  A  fine  horse,  Copeland's 
own,  was  waiting  for  him.  He  was  allowed  to 
ride  freely,  but  old  Whitburn  kept  close  beside 
him,  so  that  escape  would  have  been  impossible. 
He  was  in  the  armour  in  which  he  had  fought, 
dimmed  and  dust-stained,  but  still  glancing  in  the 
morning  sun,  which  glittered  on  the  sea,  though 
a  heavy  western  thunder-cloud,  purple  in  the  sun, 
was  rising  in  front  of  this  strange  bridal  cavalcade. 

It  was  overhead  by  the  time  the  church  was 
reached,  and  the  heavy  rain  that  began  to  fall 
caused  the  priest  to  bid  the  whole  party  come 
within  for  the  part  of  the  ceremony  usually  per- 
formed outside  the  west  door. 

It  was  very  dark  within.  The  windows  were 
small  and  old,  and  filled  with  dusky  glass,  and 
the  arches  were  low  browed.  Grisell's  mufflings 
were  thrown  aside,  and  she  stood  as  became  a 
maiden  bride,  with  all  her  hair  flowing  over  her 
shoulders  and  long  tresses  over  her  face,  but  even 
without  this,  her  features  would  hardly  have  been 
visible,  as  the  dense  cloud  rolled  overhead;  and 


XIII  A  KNOT  147 

indeed  so  tall  and  straight  was  her  figure  that  no 
one  would  have  supposed  her  other  than  a  fair 
young  spouse.  She  trembled  a  good  deal,  but  was 
too  much  terrified  and,  as  it  were,  stunned  for 
tears,  and  she  durst  not  raise  her  drooping  head 
even  to  look  at  her  bridegroom,  though  such  light 
as  came  in  shone  upon  his  fair  hair  and  was  re- 
flected on  his  armour,  and  on  one  golden  spur  that 
still  he  wore,  the  other  no  doubt  lost  in  the  fight. 

All  was  done  regularly.  The  Lord  of  Whit- 
burn was  determined  that  no  ceremony  that  could 
make  the  wedlock  valid  should  be  omitted.  The 
priest,  a  kind  old  man,  but  of  peasant  birth,  and 
entirely  subservient  to  the  Dacres,  proceeded  to 
ask  each  of  the  pair  when  they  had  been  assoiled, 
namely,  absolved.  Grisell,  as  he  well  knew,  had 
been  shriven  only  last  Friday ;  Leonard  muttered, 
'Three  days  since,  when  I  was  dubbed  knight,  ere 
the  battle.' 

'That  suffices,'  put  in  the  Baron  impatiently. 
'On  with  you.  Sir  Lucas.' 

The  thoroughly  personal  parts  of  the  service 
Avere  in  English,  and  Grisell  could  not  but  look 
up  anxiously  when  the  solemn  charge  was  given 
to  mention  whether  there  was  any  lawful '  letting  ' 
to  their  marriage.  Her  heart  bounded  as  it  were 
to   her   throat  when  Leonard  made    no    answer. 


148  GKISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

But  then  what  lay  before  him  if  he  pleaded  his 
promise ! 

It  went  on  —  those  betrothal  vows,  dictated 
while  the  two  cold  hands  were  linked,  his  with  a 
kind  of  limp  passiveness,  hers,  quaking,  espe- 
cially as,  in  the  old  use  of  York,  he  took  her  'for 
laither  for  fairer '  —  laith  being  equivalent  to 
loathly  —  'till  death  us  do  part.'  And  with  fail- 
ing heart,  but  still  resolute  heart,  she  faltered  out 
her  vow  to  cleave  to  him  'for  better  for  worse,  for 
richer  for  poorer,  in  sickness  or  health,  and  to 
be  bonner  (debonair  or  cheerful)  and  boughsome 
(obedient)  till  that  final  parting. ' 

The  troth  was  plighted,  and  the  silver  mark  — 
poor  Leonard's  sole  available  property  at  the 
moment  —  laid  on  the  priest's  book,  as  the  words 
were  said,  'with  worldly  cathel  I  thee  endow,' 
and  the  ring,  an  old  one  of  her  mother's,  was  held 
on  Grisell's  finger.  It  was  done,  though,  alas! 
the  bridegroom  could  hardly  say  with  truth,  'with 
my  body  I  thee  worship. ' 

Then  followed  the  procession  to  the  altar,  the 
chilly  hands  barely  touching  one  another,  and  the 
mass  was  celebrated,  when  Latin  did  not  come 
home  to  the  pair  like  English,  though  both  fairly 
understood  it.  Grisell's  feeling  w^as  by  this  time 
concentrated  in  the  one  hope  that  she  should  be 


XIII  A  KNOT  149 

dutiful  to  the  poor,  unwilling  bridegroom,  far 
more  to  be  pitied  than  herself,  and  that  she  should 
be  guarded  by  God  whatever  befell. 

It  was  over.  Signing  of  registers  was  not  in 
those  days,  but  there  was  some  delay,  for  the  dark- 
ness was  more  dense  than  ever,  the  rush  of  furious 
hail  was  heard  without,  a  great  blue  flash  of 
intense  light  filled  every  corner  of  the  church,  the 
thunder  pealed  so  sharply  and  vehemently  over- 
head that  the  small  company  looked  at  one  another 
and  at  the  church,  to  ascertain  that  no  stroke  had 
fallen.  Then  the  Lord  of  Whitburn,  first  recover- 
ing himself,  cried,  'Come,  sir  knight,  kiss  your 
bride.  Ha!  where  is  he?  Sir  Leonard  —  here. 
Who  hath  seen  him?  Not  vanished  in  yon 
flash!     Eh?' 

No,  but  the  men  without,  cowering  under  the 
wall,  deposed  that  Sir  Leonard  Copeland  had 
rushed  out,  shouted  to  them  that  he  had  fulfilled 
the  conditions  and  was  a  free  man,  taken  his 
horse,  and  galloped  away  through  the  storm. 


CHAPTER   XIV 

THE  LONELY  BRIDE 

Grace  for  the  callant 
If  he  marries  our  muckle-moiith  Meg. 

Browning. 

'  The  recreant !  Shall  we  follow  him  ?  '  was  the 
cry  of  Lord  Whitburn's  younger  squire,  Harry 
Featherstone,  with  his  hand  on  his  horse's  neck, 
in  spite  of  the  torrents  of  rain  and  the  fresh  flash 
that  set  the  horses  quivering. 

'No!  no!'  roared  the  Baron.  'I  tell  you  no! 
He  has  fulfilled  his  promise ;  I  fulfil  mine.  He 
has  his  freedom.  Let  him  go !  For  the  rest,  we 
will  find  the  way  to  make  him  good  husband  to 
you,  my  wench,'  and  as  Harry  murmured  some- 
thing, 'There's  work  enow  in  hand  without  spend- 
ing our  horses'  breath  and  our  own  in  chasing 
after  a  runaAvay  groom.  A  brief  space  we  will 
wait  till  the  storm  be  over. ' 

Grisell  shrank  back  to  pray  at  a  little  side  altar, 
telling  her  beads,  and  repeating  the  Latin  formula, 
but  in  her  heart  all  the  time  giving  thanks  that 

150 


CHAP.  XIV  THE  LONELY  BRIDE  151 

she  was  going  back  to  Bernard  and  her  mother, 
whose  needs  had  been  pressing  strongly  on  her, 
yet  that  she  might  do  right  by  this  newly-espoused 
husband,  whose  downcast,  dejected  look  had  filled 
her,  not  with  indignation  at  the  slight  to  her  — 
she  was  far  past  that  —  but  with  yearning  com- 
passion for  one  thus  severed  from  his  true  love. 

When  the  storm  had  subsided  enough  for  these 
hardy  northlanders  to  ride  home,  and  Grisell  was 
again  perched  behind  old  Cuthbert  Ridley,  he 
asked,  'Well,  my  Dame  of  Copeland,  dost  peak 
and  pine  for  thy  runaway  bridegroom  ?  ' 

'Nay,  I  had  far  rather  be  going  home  to  my 
little  Bernard  than  be  away  with  yonder  stranger 
I  ken  not  whither. ' 

'Thou  art  in  the  right,  my  wench.  If  the  lad 
can  break  the  marriage  by  pleading  precontract, 
you  may  lay  your  reckoning  on  it  that  so  he  will.' 

When  they  came  home  to  the  attempt  at  a 
marriage-feast  which  Lady  Whitburn  had  impro- 
vised, they  found  that  this  was  much  her  opinion. 

'He  will  get  the  knot  untied,'  she  said.  'So 
thick  as  the  King  and  his  crew  are  with  the  Pope, 
it  will  cost  him  nothing,  but  we  may,  for  very 
shame,  force  a  dowry  out  of  his  young  knighthood 
to  get  the  wench  into  Whitby  withal ! ' 

'So  he  even  proffered  on   his   way,'  said   the 


162  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

Baron.  'He  is  a  fair  and  knightly  youth.  'Tis 
pity  of  him  that  he  holds  with  the  Frenchwoman. 
Ha,  Bernard,  'tis  for  thy  good. ' 

For  the  boy  was  clinging  tight  to  his  sister,  and 
declaring  that  his  Grisly  should  never  leave  him 
again,  not  for  twenty  vile  runaway  husbands. 

Grisell  returned  to  all  her  old  habits,  and  there 
was  no  difference  in  her  position,  excepting  that 
she  was  scrupulously  called  Dame  Grisell  Cope- 
land.  Her  father  was  soon  called  away  by  the 
summons  to  Parliament,  sent  forth  in  the  name  of 
King  Henry,  who  was  then  in  the  hands  of  the 
Earl  of  Warwick  in  London.  The  Sheriff's  mes- 
senger Avho  brought  him  the  summons  plainly  said 
that  all  the  friends  of  York,  Salisbury,  and  War- 
wick were  needed  for  a  great  change  that  would 
dash  the  hopes  of  the  Frenchwoman  and  her  son. 

He  went  with  all  his  train,  leaving  the  defence 
of  the  castle  to  Ridley  and  the  ladies,  and  assur- 
ing Grisell  that  she  need  not  be  downhearted. 
He  would  yet  bring  her  fine  husband.  Sir  Leonard, 
to  his  marrow  bones  before  her. 

Grisell  had  not  much  time  to  think  of  Sir  Leon- 
ard, for  as  the  summer  waned,  both  her  mother 
and  Bernard  sickened  with  low  fever.  In  the 
lady's  case  it  was  intermittent,  and  she  spent  only 
the  third  day  in  her  bed,  the  others  in  crouching 


xrr  THE  LONELY  BRIDE  153 

over  the  fire  or  hanging  over  the  child's  bed,  where 
he  lay  constantly  tossing  and  fevered  all  night, 
sometimes  craving  to  be  on  his  sister's  lap,  but 
too  restless  long  to  lie  there.  Both  manifestly 
became  weaker,  in  spite  of  all  Grisell's  simple 
treatment,  and  at  last  she  wrung  from  the  lady 
permission  to  send  Ridley  to  Wearmouth  to  try  if 
it  was  possible  to  bring  out  Master  Lambert  Groot 
to  give  his  advice,  or  if  not,  to  obtain  medicaments 
and  counsel  from  him. 

The  good  little  man  actually  came,  riding  a 
mule.  'Ay,  ay,'  quoth  Ridley,  'I  brought  him, 
though  he  vowed  at  first  it  might  never  be,  but 
when  he  heard  it  concerned  you,  mistress  —  I 
mean  Dame  Grisell  —  he  was  ready  to  come  to 
your  aid. ' 

Good  little  man,  standing  trim  and  neat  in  his 
burgher's  dress  and  little  frill-like  ruff,  he  looked 
quite  out  of  place  in  the  dark  old  hall. 

Lady  Whitburn  seemed  to  think  him  a  sort  of 
magician,  though  inferior  enough  to  be  under  her 
orders-  'Ha!  Is  that  your  Poticary?'  she  de- 
manded, when  Grisell  brought  him  up  to  the 
solar.  'Look  at  my  bairn.  Master  Dutchman; 
see  to  healing  him,'  she  continued  imperiously. 

Lambert  Was  too  well  used  to  incivilit}^  from 
nobles  to  heed  her  manner,  though  in  point  of  fact 


164  GRISLY  GRISELL 


CHAP. 


a  Flemish  noble  was  far  more  civilised  than  this 
North  Country  dame.  He  looked  anxiously  at 
Bernard,  who  moaned  a  little  and  turned  his  head 
away.  'Nay,  now,  Bernard,'  entreated  his  sister; 
'  look  up  at  the  good  man,  he  that  sent  you  the 
sugar-balls.     He  is  come  to  try  to  make  you  well.' 

Bernard  let  her  coax  him  to  give  his  poor  little 
wasted  hand  to  the  leech,  and  looked  with  wonder 
in  his  heavy  eyes  at  the  stranger,  who  felt  his 
pulse,  and  asked  to  have  him  lifted  up  for  better 
examination.  There  was  at  first  a  dismal  little 
whine  at  being  touched  and  moved,  but  when  a 
pleasantly  acid  drop  was  put  into  his  little 
parched  mouth,  he  smiled  with  brief  content. 
His  mother  evidently  expected  that  both  he  and 
she  herself  would  be  relieved  on  the  spot,  but  the 
Apothecary  durst  not  be  hopeful,  though  he  gave 
the  child  a  draught  which  he  called  a  febrifuge, 
and  which  put  him  to  sleep,  and  bade  the  lady 
take  another  of  the  like  if  she  wished  for  a  good 
night's  rest. 

He  added,  however,  that  the  best  remedy  would 
be  a  pilgrimage  to  Lindisfarne,  which,  be  it  ob- 
served, really  meant  absence  from  the  foul,  close, 
feverish  air  of  the  castle,  and  all  the  evil  odours 
of  the  court.  To  the  lady  he  thought  it  would 
really  be  healing,  but  he  doubted  whether  the  poor 


XIV  THE  LONELY  BRIDE  155 

little  boy  was  not  too  far  gone  for  such  revival ; 
indeed,  he  made  no  secret  that  he  believed  the 
child  was  stricken  for  death. 

'  Then  what  boots  all  your  vaunted  chirurgery ! ' 
cried  the  mother  passionately.  '  You  outlandish 
cheat !  you !  What  did  you  come  here  for  ?  You 
have  not  even  let  him  blood! ' 

'  Let  him  blood  I  good  madame, '  exclaimed  Mas- 
ter Lambert.  'In  his  state,  to  take  away  his  blood 
would  be  to  kill  him  outright! ' 

'False  fool  and  pretender,'  cried  Lady  Whit- 
bum;  'as  if  all  did  not  ken  that  the  first  duty 
of  a  leech  is  to  take  away  the  infected  humours  of 
the  blood!  Demented  as  I  was  to  send  for  you. 
Had  you  been  worth  but  a  pinch  of  salt,  you  would 
have  shown  me  how  to  lay  hands  on  Nan  the 
witch-wife,  the  cause  of  all  the  scathe  to  my  poor 
bairn. ' 

Master  Lambert  could  only  protest  that  he  laid 
no  claim  to  the  skill  of  a  witch-finder,  whereupon 
the  lady  stormed  at  him  as  having  come  on  false 
pretences,  and  at  her  daughter  for  having  brought 
him,  and  finally  fell  into  a  paroxysm  of  violent 
weeping,  during  which  Grisell  was  thankful  to 
convey  her  guest  out  of  the  chamber,  and  place 
him  under  the  care  of  Ridley,  who  would  take 
care  he  had  food  and  rest,  and  safe  convoy  back  to 


166  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

Wearmouth  when  his  mule  had  been  rested  and 
baited. 

'Oh,  Master  Lambert,'  she  said,  'it  grieves  me 
that  you  should  have  been  thus  treated. ' 

'Heed  not  that,  sweet  lady.  It  oft  falls  to  our 
share  to  brook  the  like,  and  I  fear  me  that  yours 
is  a  weary  lot. ' 

'But  my  brother!  my  little  brother! '  she  asked. 
'It  is  all  out  of  my  mother's  love  for  him.' 

'Alack,  lady,  what  can  I  say?  The  child  is 
sickly,  and  little  enough  is  there  of  peace  or  joy 
in  this  world  for  such,  be  he  high  or  low  born. 
Were  it  not  better  that  the  Saints  should  take  him 
to  their  keeping,  while  yet  a  sackless  babe  ?  ' 

Grisell  wrung  her  hands  together.  'Ah!  he 
hath  been  all  my  joy  or  bliss  through  these  years ; 
but  I  will  strive  to  say  it  is  well,  and  yield  my 
will.' 

The  crying  of  the  poor  little  sufferer  for  his 
Grisly  called  her  back  before  she  could  say  or 
hear  more.  Her  mother  lay  still  utterly  exhausted 
on  her  bed,  and  hardly  noticed  her;  but  all  that 
evening,  and  all  the  ensuing  night,  Grisell  held 
the  boy,  sometimes  on  her  lap,  sometimes  on  the 
bed,  while  all  the  time  his  moans  grew  more  and 
more  feeble,  his  words  more  indistinct.  By  and 
by,  as  she  sat  on  the  bed,  holding  him  on  her 


XIV  THE  LONELY   BRIDE  157 

breast,  he  dropped  asleep,  and  perhaps,  outwear ied 
as  she  was,  she  slept  too.  At  any  rate  all  was 
still,  till  she  was  roused  by  a  cry  from  Thora, 
'Holy  St.  Hilda!  the  bairn  has  passed! ' 

And  indeed  when  Grisell  started,  the  little  head 
and  hand  that  had  been  clasped  to  her  fell  utterly 
prone,  and  there  was  a  strange  cold  at  her  breast. 

Her  mother  woke  with  a  loud  wail.  'My  bairn ! 
My  bairn! '  snatching  him  to  her  arms.  'This  is 
none  other  than  your  Dutchman's  doings,  girl. 
Have  him  to  the  dungeon !  Where  are  the  stocks  ? 
Oh,  my  pretty  boy!  He  breathed,  he  is  living. 
Give  me  the  wine ! '  Then  as  there  was  no  open- 
ing of  the  pale  lips,  she  fell  into  another  tempest 
of  tears,  during  which  Grisell  rushed  to  the  stair, 
where  on  the  lowest  step  she  met  Lambert  and 
Ridley. 

'Have  him  away!  Have  him  away,  Cuthbert,' 
she  cried.  'Out  of  the  castle  instantly.  My 
mother  is  distraught  with  grief;  I  know  not  what 
she  may  do  —  to  him.     O  go !     Not  a  word ! ' 

They  could  but  obey,  riding  away  in  the  early 
morning,  and  leaving  the  castle  to  its  sorrow. 

So,  tenderly  and  sadly  was  little  Bernard  carried 
to  the  vault  in  the  church,  while  Grisell  knelt  as 
his  chief  mourner,  for  her  mother,  after  her  burst 
of  passion  subsided,  lay  still  and  listless,  hardly 


158  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap,  xiv 

noticing  anything,  as  if  there  had  fallen  on  her 
some  stroke  that  affected  her  brain.  Tidings  of 
the  Baron  were  slow  to  come,  and  though  Grisell 
sent  a  letter  by  a  wandering  friar  to  York,  with 
information  of  the  child's  death  and  the  mother's 
illness,  it  was  very  doubtful  when  or  whether  they 
would  ever  reach  him. 


CHAPTER   XV 

WAKEFIELD   BRIDGE 

I  come  to  tell  you  things  since  then  befallen. 
After  the  bloody  fray  at  Wakefield  fought, 
Where  your  brave  father  breathed  his  latest  gasp. 

Shakespeare,  King  Henry  VI.,  Part  III. 

Christmas  went  by  sadly  in  Whitburn  Tower, 
but  the  succeeding  weeks  were  to  be  sadder  still. 
It  was  on  a  long  dark  evening  that  a  commotion 
was  heard  at  the  gate,  and  Lady  Whitburn,  who 
had  been  sitting  by  the  smouldering  fire  in  her 
chamber,  seemed  suddenly  startled  into  life. 

'Tidings,'  she  cried.  'News  of  my  lord  and 
son.     Bring  them,  Grisell,  bring  them  up. ' 

Grisell  obeyed,  and  hurried  down  to  the  hall. 
All  the  household,  men  and  maids,  were  gathered 
round  some  one  freshly  come  in,  and  the  first 
sound  she  heard  was,  'Alack!     Alack,  my  lady!  ' 

' How  —  what  —  how '  she  asked  breath- 
lessly, just  recognising  Harry  Feathers  tone,  pale, 
dusty,  blood-stained. 

'It  is  evil  news,  dear  lady,'  said  old  Ridley, 
turning  towards  her  with  outstretched  hands,  and 

169 


160  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

tears  flowing  down  his  cheeks.  'My  knight.  Oh! 
my  knight!     And  I  was  not  by! ' 

'Slain?'  almost  under  her  breath,  asked  Grisell. 

'Even  so!  At  Wakefield  Bridge,'  began 
Featherstone,  but  at  that  instant,  walking  stiff, 
upright,  and  rigid,  like  a  figure  moved  by  mech- 
anism. Lady  Whitburn  was  among  them. 

'My  lord,'  she  said,  still  as  if  her  voice  belonged 
to  some  one  else.  'Slain?  And  thou,  recreant, 
here  to  tell  the  tale ! ' 

'Madam,  he  fell  before  I  had  time  to  strike.' 
She  seemed  to  hear  no  word,  but  again  demanded, 
'My  son.' 

He  hesitated  a  moment,  but  she  fiercely  reit- 
erated. 

'My  son!     Speak  out,  thou  coward  loon.' 

'Madam,  Robert  was  cut  down  by  the  Lord 
Clifford  beside  the  Earl  of  Rutland.  'Tis  a  lost 
field!  I  barely  'scaped  with  a  dozen  men.  I  came 
but  to  bear  the  tidings,  and  see  whether  you  needed 
an  arm  to  hold  out  the  castle  for  young  Bernard. 
Or  I  would  be  on  my  way  to  my  own  folk  on  the 
Border,  for  the  Queen's  men  will  anon  be  every- 
where, since  the  Duke  is  slain ! ' 

'The  Duke!  The  Duke  of  York! '  was  the  cry, 
as  if  a  tower  were  down. 

'What  would  you.     We  were  caught  by  Somer- 


XV  WAKEFIELD  BRIDGE  161 

set  like  deer  in  a  buck-stall.  Here !  Give  me  a 
cup  of  ale,  I  can  scarce  speak  for  chill. ' 

He  sank  upon  the  settle  as  one  quite  worn  out. 
The  ale  was  brought  by  some  one,  and  he  drank  a 
long  draught,  while,  at  a  sign  from  Ridley,  one  of 
the  serving-men  began  to  draw  off  his  heavy  boots 
and  greaves,  covered  with  frosted  mud,  snow,  and 
blood,  all  melting  together,  but  all  the  time  he 
talked,  and  the  hearers  remained  stunned  and  lis- 
tening to  what  had  hardly  yet  penetrated  their 
understanding.  Lady  Whitburn  had  collapsed 
into  her  own  chair,  and  was  as  still  as  the  rest. 

He  spoke  incoherently,  and  Ridley  now  and 
then  asked  a  question,  but  his  fragmentary  narra- 
tive may  be  thus  expanded. 

All  had,  in  Yorkist  opinion,  gone  well  in  Lon- 
don. Henry  was  in  the  power  of  the  White  Rose, 
and  had  actually  consented  that  Richard  of  York 
should  be  his  next  heir,  but  in  the  meantime 
Queen  Margaret  had  been  striving  her  utmost  to 
raise  the  Welsh  and  the  Border  lords  on  behalf  of 
her  son.  She  had  obtained  aid  from  Scotland; 
and  the  Percies,  the  Dacres  of  Gilsland,  and  many 
more,  had  followed  her  standard.  The  Duke  of 
York  and  Earl  of  Salisbury  set  forth  to  repress 
what  they  called  a  riot,  probably  unaware  of  the 
numbers  who  were  daily  joining  the  Queen.     With 


162  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

them  went  Lord  Whitburn,  hoping  thence  to  return 
home,  and  his  son  Robert,  still  a  squire  of  the 
Duke's  household. 

They  reached  York's  castle  of  Sendal,  and  there 
merrily  kept  Christmas,  but  on  St.  Thomas  of 
Canterbury's  Day  they  heard  that  the  foe  were 
close  at  hand,  many  thousands  strong,  and  on  the 
morrow  Queen  Margaret,  with  her  boy  beside 
her,  and  the  Duke  of  Somerset,  came  before  the  gate 
and  called  on  the  Duke  to  surrender  the  castle, 
and  his  own  vaunting  claims  with  it,  or  else  come 
out  and  fight. 

Sir  Davy  Hall  entreated  the  Duke  to  remain  in 
the  castle  till  his  son  Edward,  Earl  of  March, 
could  bring  reinforcements  up  from  Wales,  but 
York  held  it  to  be  dishonourable  to  shut  himself 
up  on  account  of  a  scolding  woman,  and  the  pru- 
dence of  the  Earl  of  Salisbury  was  at  fault,  since 
both  presumed  on  the  easy  victories  they  had 
hitherto  gained.  Therefore  they  sallied  out 
towards  Wakefield  Bridge,  to  confront  the  main 
body  of  Margaret's  army,  ignorant  or  careless  that 
she  had  two  wings  in  reserve.  These  closed  in 
on  them,  and  their  fate  was  certain. 

'My  lord  fell  in  the  mel^e  among  the  first,'  said 
Featherstone.  'I  was  down  beside  him,  trying  to 
lift  him  up,  when  a  big  Scot  came  with  his  bill 


XV  WAKEFIELD  BRIDGE  163 

and  struck  at  my  head,  and  I  knew  no  more  till  I 
found  my  master  lying  stark  dead  and  stripped  of 
all  his  armour.  My  sword  was  gone,  but  I  got  off 
save  for  this  cut '  (and  he  pushed  back  his  hair) 
'and  a  horse's  kick  or  two,  for  the  whole  battle 
had  gone  over  me,  and  I  heard  the  shouting  far 
away.  As  my  lord  lay  past  help,  methought  I  had 
best  shift  myself  ere  more  rascaille  came  to  strip 
the  slain.  And  as  luck  or  my  good  Saint  would 
have  it,  as  I  stumbled  among  the  corpses  I  heard 
a  whinnying,  and  saw  mine  own  horse.  Brown 
Weardale,  running  masterless.  Glad  enough  was 
he,  poor  brute,  to  have  my  hand  on  his  rein. 

'The  bridge  was  choked  with  fighting  men,  so 
I  was  about  to  put  him  to  the  river,  when  whom 
should  I  see  on  the  bridge  but  young  Master 
Robin,  and  with  him  young  Lord  Edmund  of  Rut- 
land. There,  on  the  other  side,  holding  parley 
with  them,  was  the  knight  Mistress  Grisell 
wedded,  and  though  he  wore  the  White  Rose,  he 
gave  his  hand  to  them,  and  was  letting  them  go  by 
in  safety.  I  was  calling  to  Master  Rob  to  let  me 
pass  as  one  of  his  own,  when  thundering  on  came 
the  grim  Lord  Clifford,  roaring  like  the  wind  in 
Roker  caves.  I  heard  him  howl  at  young  Cope- 
land  for  a  traitor,  letting  go  the  accursed  spoilers 
of  York.     Copeland  tried  to  speak,  but  Clifford 


164  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

dashed  him  aside  against  the  wall,  and,  ah!  woe's 
me,  lady,  when  Master  Robin  threw  himself  be- 
tween, the  fellow  —  a  murrain  on  his  name  —  ran 
the  fair  youth  through  the  neck  with  his  sword, 
and  swept  him  off  into  the  river.  Then  he  caught 
hold  of  Lord  Edmund,  crying  out,  "Thy  father 
slew  mine,  and  so  do  I  thee,"  and  dashed  out  his 
brains  with  his  mace.  For  me,  I  rode  along 
farther,  swam  my  horse  over  the  river  in  the  twi- 
light, with  much  ado  to  keep  clear  of  the  dead 
horses  and  poor  slaughtered  comrades  that  cum- 
bered the  stream,  and  what  was  even  worse,  some 
not  yet  dead,  borne  along  and  crying  out.  A 
woful  day  it  was  to  all  who  loved  the  kindly  Duke 
of  York,  or  this  same  poor  house !  As  luck  would 
have  it,  I  fell  in  with  Jock  of  Redesdale  and  a 
few  more  honest  fellows,  who  had  'scaped.  We 
found  none  but  friends  when  we  were  well  past 
the  river.  They  succoured  us  at  the  first  abbey 
we  came  to.  The  rest  have  sped  to  their  homes, 
and  here  am  I. ' 

Such  was  the  tenor  of  Featherstone's  doleful 
history  of  that  blood-thirsty  Lancastrian  victory. 
All  had  hung  in  dire  suspense  on  his  words,  and 
not  till  they  were  ended  did  Grisell  become  con- 
scious that  her  mother  was  sitting  like  a  stone, 
with   fixed,  glassy  eyes  and  dropped  lip,  in  the 


XV  WAKEFIELD  BRIDGE  165 

high-backed  chair,  quite  senseless,  and  breathing 
strangely. 

They  took  her  up  and  carried  her  upstairs,  as 
one  who  had  received  her  death  stroke  as  surely 
as  had  her  husband  and  son  on  the  slopes  between 
Sendal  and  Wakefield. 

Grisell  and  Thora  did  their  utmost,  but  without 
reviving  her,  and  they  watched  by  her,  hardly 
conscious  of  anything  else,  as  they  tried  their 
simple,  ineffective  remedies  one  after  another, 
with  no  thought  or  possibility  of  sending  for  fur- 
ther help,  since  the  roads  would  be  impassable  in 
the  long  January  night,  and  besides,  the  Lancas- 
trians might  make  them  doubly  perilous.  More- 
over, this  dumb  paralysis  was  accepted  as  past 
cure,  and  needing  not  the  doctor  but  the  priest. 
Before  the  first  streak  of  dawn  on  that  tardy, 
northern  morning,  Ridley's  ponderous  step  came 
up  the  stair,  into  the  feeble  light  of  the  rush 
candle  which  the  watchers  tried  to  shelter  from 
the  draughts. 

The  sad  question  and  answer  of  'No  change  ' 
passed,  and  then  Ridley,  his  gruff  voice  unneces- 
sarily hushed,  said,  '  Featherstone  would  speak 
with  you,  lady.  He  would  know  whether  it  be 
your  pleasure  to  keep  him  in  your  service  to  hold 
out  the  Tower,  or  whether  he  is  free  to  depart. ' 


166  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

'Mine! '  said  Grisell  bewildered. 

'Yea!'  exclaimed  Ridley.  'You  are  Lady  of 
Whitburn!' 

'Ah!  It  is  true,'  exclaimed  Grisell,  clasping 
her  hands.  'Woe  is  me  that  it  should  be  so! 
And  oh !  Cuthbert !  my  husband,  if  he  lives,  is  a 
Queen's  man!     What  can  I  do? ' 

'If  it  were  of  any  boot  I  would  say  hold  out  the 
Tower.  He  deserves  no  better  after  the  scurvy 
way  he  treated  you, '  said  Cuthbert  grimly.  '  He 
may  be  dead,  too,  though  Harry  fears  he  was  but 
stunned. ' 

'But  oh! '  cried  Grisell,  as  if  she  saw  one  gleam 
of  light,  'did  not  I  hear  something  of  his  trying 
to  save  my  brother  and  Lord  Edmund  ?  ' 

'You  had  best  come  down  and  hear,'  said  Rid- 
ley. '  Featherstone  cannot  go  till  he  has  spoken 
with  you,  and  he  ought  to  depart  betimes,  lest  the 
Gilsland  folk  and  all  the  rest  of  them  be  ravening 
on  their  way  back. ' 

Grisell  looked  at  her  mother,  who  lay  in  the 
same  state,  entirely  past  her  reach.  The  hard, 
stern  woman,  who  had  seemed  to  have  no  affection 
to  bestow  on  her  daughter,  had  been  entirely 
broken  down  and  crushed  by  the  loss  of  her  sons 
and  husband. 

Probably  neither  had  realised  that  by  forcing 


XV  WAKEFIELD  BRIDGE  167 

Grisell  on  young  Copeland  they  might  be  giving 
their  Tower  to  their  enemy. 

She  went  down  to  the  hall,  where  Harry  Feath- 
erstone,  whose  night  had  done  him  more  good  than 
hers  had,  came  to  meet  her,  looking  much  fresh- 
ened, and  with  a  bandage  over  his  forehead.  He 
bent  low  before  her,  and  offered  her  his  services, 
but,  as  he  told  her,  he  and  Ridley  had  been  talk- 
ing it  over,  and  they  thought  it  vain  to  try  to  hold 
out  the  Tower,  even  if  any  stout  men  did  straggle 
back  from  the  battle,  for  the  country  round  was 
chiefly  Lancastrian,  and  it  would  be  scarcely 
possible  to  get  provisions,  or  to  be  relieved. 
Moreover,  the  Gilsland  branch  of  the  family,  who 
would  be  the  male  heirs,  were  on  the  side  of  the 
King  and  Queen,  and  might  drive  her  out  if  she 
resisted.  Thus  there  seemed  no  occasion  for  the 
squire  to  remain,  and  he  hoped  to  reach  his  own 
family,  and  save  himself  from  the  risk  of  being 
captured. 

'No,  sir,  we  do  not  need  you,'  said  Grisell.  'If 
Sir  Leonard  Copeland  lives  and  claims  this  Tower, 
there  is  no  choice  save  to  yield  it  to  him.  I  would 
not  delay  you  in  seeking  your  own  safety,  but 
only  thank  you  for  your  true  service  to  my  lord 
and  father. ' 

She  held  out  her  hand,  which  Featherstone 
kissed  on  his  knee. 


168  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap,  xv 

His  horse  was  terribly  jaded,  and  he  thought  he 
could  make  his  way  more  safely  on  foot  than  in 
the  panoply  of  an  esquire,  for  in  this  war,  the 
poorer  sort  were  hardly  touched ;  the  attacks  were 
chiefly  made  on  nobles  and  gentlemen.  So  he 
prepared  to  set  forth,  but  Grisell  obtained  from 
him  what  she  had  scarcely  understood  the  night 
before,  the  entire  history  of  the  fall  of  her  father 
and  brother,  and  how  gallantly  Leonard  Copeland 
had  tried  to  withstand  Clifford's  rage. 

'He  did  his  best  for  them,'  she  said,  as  if  it 
were  her  one  drop  of  hope  and  comfort. 

Ridley  very  decidedly  hoped  that  Clifford's  blow 
had  freed  her  from  her  reluctant  husband;  and 
mayhap  the  marriage  would  give  her  claims  on  the 
Copeland  property.  But  Grisell  somehow  could 
not  join  in  the  wish.  She  could  only  remember 
the  merry  boy  at  Amesbury  and  the  fair  face  she 
had  seen  sleeping  in  the  hall,  and  she  dwelt  on 
Featherstone's  assurance  that  no  wound  had 
pierced  the  knight,  and  that  he  would  probably 
be  little  the  worse  for  his  fall  against  the  parapet 
of  the  bridge.  Use  her  as  he  might,  she  could  not 
wish  him  dead,  though  it  was  a  worthy  death  in 
defence  of  his  old  playfellow  and  of  her  own 
brother. 


CHAPTER   XVI 

A  NEW  MASTER 

In  the  dark  chambere,  if  the  bride  was  fair, 
Ye  wis,  I  could  not  see. 

And  the  bride  rose  from  her  knee 
And  kissed  the  smile  of  her  mother  dead. 

E.  B.  Browning,  The  Romaunt  of  the  Page. 

The  Lady  of  Whitburn  lingered  from  day  to  day, 
sometimes  showing  signs  of  consciousness,  and  of 
knowing  her  daughter,  but  never  really  reviving. 
At  the  end  of  a  fortnight  she  seemed  for  one  day 
somewhat  better,  but  that  night  she  had  a  fresh 
attack,  and  was  so  evidently  dying  that  the  priest, 
Sir  Lucas,  was  sent  for  to  bring  her  the  last 
Sacrament.  The  passing  bell  rang  out  from  the 
church,  and  the  old  man,  with  his  little  server 
before  him,  came  up  the  stair,  and  was  received 
by  Grisell,  Thora,  and  one  or  two  other  servants 
on  their  knees. 

Ridley  was  not  there.  For  even  then,  while 
the  priest  was  crossing  the  hall,  a  party  of  spear- 
men, with  a  young  knight  at  their  head,  rode  to 
the  gate  and  demanded  entrance. 

169 


170  GKISLY  GKISELL  chap. 

The  frightened  porter  hurried  to  call  Master 
Ridley,  who,  instead  of  escorting  the  priest  with 
the  Host  to  his  dying  lady,  had  to  go  to  the  gate, 
where  he  recognised  Sir  Leonard  Copeland,  far 
from  dead,  in  very  different  guise  from  that  in 
which  he  had  been  brought  to  the  castle  before. 
He  looked,  however,  awed,  as  he  said,  bending 
his  head  — 

'Is  it  sooth.  Master  Ridley?  Is  death  before- 
hand with  me  ? ' 

'My  old  lady  is  in  extremis^  sir,'  replied  Ridley. 
'Poor  soul,  she  hath  never  spoken  since  she  heard 
of  my  lord's  death  and  his  son's.' 

'  The  younger  lad  ?  Lives  here  ? '  demanded 
Copeland.     'Is  it  as  I  have  heard?  ' 

'Aye,  sir.  The  child  passed  away  on  the  Eve 
of  St.  Luke.  I  have  my  lady's  orders,'  he  added 
reluctantly,  'to  open  the  castle  to  you,  as  of  right.' 

'It  is  well,'  returned  Sir  Leonard.  Then,  turn- 
ing round  to  the  twenty  men  who  followed  him, 
he  said,  'Men-at-arms,  as  you  saw  and  heard,  there 
is  death  here.  Draw  up  here  in  silence.  This 
good  esquire  will  see  that  you  have  food  and 
fodder  for  the  horses.  Kemp,  Hardcastle,'  to  his 
squires,  'see  that  all  is  done  with  honour  and 
respect  as  to  the  lady  of  the  castle  and  mine. 
Aught  unseemly  shall  be  punished. ' 


XVI  A  NEW  MASTER  171 

Wherewith  he  dismounted,  and  entered  the 
narrow  little  court,  looking  about  him  with  a  keen, 
critical,  soldierly  eye,  but  speaking  with  low, 
grave  tones. 

'I  may  not  tarry,'  he  said  to  Ridley,  'but  this 
place,  since  it  falls  to  me  and  mine,  must  be  held 
for  the  King  and  Queen.' 

'My  lady  bows  to  your  will,  sir,'  returned 
Ridley. 

Copeland  continued  to  survey  the  walls  and 
very  antiquated  defences,  observing  that  there 
could  have  been  few  alarms  there.  This  lasted 
till  the  rites  in  the  sick-room  were  ended,  and  the 
priest  came  forth. 

'Sir,'  he  said  to  Copeland,  'you  will  pardon  the 
young  lady.  Her  mother  is  in  articulo  mortis,  and 
she  cannot  leave  her. ' 

'I  would  not  disturb  her,'  said  Leonard.  'The 
Saints  forbid  that  I  should  vex  her.  I  come  but 
as  in  duty  bound  to  claim  this  Tower  on  behalf  of 
King  Harry,  Queen  Margaret,  and  the  Prince  of 
Wales  against  all  traitors.  I  will  not  tarry  here 
longer  than  to  put  it  into  hands  who  will  hold  it 
for  them  and  for  me.  How  say  you.  Sir  Squire  ?  ' 
he  added,  turning  to  Ridley,  not  discourteously. 

'We  ever  did  hold  for  King  Harry,  sir,'  re- 
turned the  old  esquire. 


172  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

'Yea,  but  against  his  true  friends,  York  and 
Warwick.  One  is  cut  off,  ay,  and  his  aider  and 
defender,  Salisbury,  who  should  rather  have  stood 
by  his  King,  has  suffered  a  traitor's  end  at  Pom- 
fret.' 

'My  Lord  of  Salisbury!  Ah!  that  will  grieve 
my  poor  young  lady,'  sighed  Ridley. 

'He  was  a  kind  lord,  save  for  his  treason  to  the 
King,'  said  Leonard.  'We  of  his  household  long 
ago  were  happy  enough,  though  strangely  divided 
now.  For  the  rest,  till  that  young  wolf  cub, 
Edward  of  March,  and  his  mischief-stirring 
cousin  of  Warwick  be  put  down,  this  place  must 
be  held  against  them  and  theirs  —  whosoever  bears 
the  White  Rose.     Wilt  do  so,  Master  Seneschal?  ' 

'I  hold  for  my  lady.  That  is  all  I  know,' 
said  Ridley,  'and  she  holds  herself  bound  to  you, 
sir.' 

'Faithful.  Ay?  You  will  be  her  guardian,  I 
see ;  but  I  must  leave  half  a  score  of  fellows  for 
the  defence,  and  will  charge  them  that  they  show 
all  respect  and  honour  to  the  lady,  and  leave  to 
you,  as  seneschal,  all  the  household,  and  of  all 
save  the  wardship  of  the  Tower,  calling  on  you 
first  to  make  oath  of  faith  to  me,  and  to  do  nought 
to  the  prejudice  of  King  Henry,  the  Queen,  or 
Prince,  nor  to  favour  the  friends  of  York  or  War- 
wick. ' 


XVI  A  NEW   MASTER  173 

'I  am  willing,  sir,'  returned  Ridley,  who  cared 
a  great  deal  more  for  the  house  of  Whitburn  than 
for  either  party,  whose  cause  he  by  no  means  un- 
derstood, perhaps  no  more  than  they  had  hitherto 
done  themselves.  As  long  as  he  was  left  to  pro- 
tect his  lady  it  was  all  he  asked,  and  more  than  he 
expected,  and  the  courtesy,  not  to  sa}^  delicacy,  of 
the  young  knight  greatly  impressed  both  him  and 
the  priest,  though  he  suspected  that  it  was  a  relief 
to  Sir  Leonard  not  to  be  obliged  to  see  his  bride 
of  a  few  months. 

The  selected  garrison  were  called  in.  Ridley 
would  rather  have  seen  them  more  of  the  North 
Country  yeoman  type  than  of  the  regular  weather- 
beaten  men-at-arms  whom  wars  always  bred  up; 
but  their  officer  was  a  slender,  dainty-looking, 
pale  young  squire,  with  his  arm  in  a  sling,  named 
Pierce  Hardcastle,  selected  apparently  because 
his  wound  rendered  rest  desirable.  Sir  Leonard 
reiterated  his  charge  that  all  honour  and  respect 
was  to  be  paid  to  the  Lady  of  Whitburn,  and  that 
she  was  free  to  come  and  go  as  she  chose,  and  to 
be  obeyed  in  every  respect,  save  in  what  regarded 
the  defence  of  the  Tower.  He  himself  was  going 
on  to  Monks  Wearmouth,  where  he  had  a  kinsman 
among  the  monks. 

With  an  eft'ort,  just  as  he  remounted  his  horse. 


174  GKISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

he  said  to  Ridley,  'Commend  me  to  the  lady. 
Tell  her  that  I  am  grieved  for  her  sorrow  and  to 
be  compelled  to  trouble  her  at  such  a  time;  but 
'tis  for  my  Queen's  service,  and  when  this  troub- 
lous times  be  ended,  she  shall  hear  more  from  me. ' 
Turning  to  the  priest  he  added,  'I  have  no  coin  to 
spare,  but  let  all  be  done  that  is  needed  for  the 
souls  of  the  departed  lord  and  lady,  and  I  will 
be  answerable.' 

Nothing  could  be  more  courteous,  but  as  he 
rode  off  priest  and  squire  looked  at  one  another, 
and  Ridley  said,  'He  will  untie  your  knot,  Sir 
Lucas. ' 

'He  takes  kindly  to  castle  and  lands,'  was  the 
answer,  with  a  smile;  'they  may  make  the  lady  to 
be  swallowed. ' 

'I  trow  'tis  for  his  cause's  sake,'  replied  Ridley. 
'Mark  you,  he  never  once  said  "My  lady,"  nor 
"My  wife."' 

'May  the  sweet  lady  come  safely  out  of  it  any 
way,'  sighed  the  priest.  'She  would  fain  give 
herself  and  her  lands  to  the  Church.' 

'May  be  'tis  the  best  that  is  like  to  befall  her,' 
said  Ridley;  'but  if  that  young  featherpate  only 
had  the  wit  to  guess  it,  he  would  find  that  he 
might  seek  Christendom  over  for  a  better  wife. ' 

They  were  interrupted  by  a  servant,  who  came 


XVI  A  NEW  MASTER  176 

hurrying  down  to  say  that  my  lady  was  even  now 
departing,  and  to  call  Sir  Lucas  to  the  bedside. 

All  was  over  a  few  moments  after  he  reached 
the  apartment,  and  Grisell  was  left  alone  in  her 
desolation.  The  only  real,  deep,  mutual  love  had 
been  between  her  and  poor  little  Bernard;  her 
elder  brother  she  had  barely  seen ;  her  father  had 
been  indifferent,  chiefly  regarding  her  as  a  dam- 
aged piece  of  property,  a  burthen  to  the  estate; 
her  mother  had  been  a  hard,  masculine,  untender 
woman,  only  softened  in  her  latter  days  by  the 
dependence  of  ill  health  and  her  passion  for  her 
sickly  youngest ;  but  on  her  Grisell  had  experi- 
enced Sister  A  vice's  lesson  that  ministry  to  others 
begets  and  fosters  love. 

And  now  she  was  alone  in  her  house,  last  of  her 
household,  her  work  for  her  mother  over,  a  wife, 
but  loathed  and  deserted  except  so  far  as  that  the 
tie  had  sanctioned  the  occupation  of  her  home  by 
a  hostile  garrison.  Her  spirit  sank  within  her, 
and  she  bitterly  felt  the  impoverishment  of  the 
always  scanty  means,  which  deprived  her  of  the 
power  of  laying  out  sums  of  money  on  those  rites 
which  were  universally  deemed  needful  for  the 
repose  of  souls  snatched  away  in  battle.  It  was 
a  mercenary  age  among  the  clergy,  and  besides,  it 
was  the  depth  of  a  northern  winter,  and  the  funeral 


176  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap,  xvi 

rites  of  the  Lady  of  Whitburn  would  have  been 
poor  and  maimed  indeed  if  a  whole  band  of  black 
Benedictine  monks  had  not  arrived  from  Wear- 
mouth,  saying  they  had  been  despatched  at  special 
request  and  charge  of  Sir  Leonard  Copeland. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

STRANGE   GUESTS 

The  needle,  having  nought  to  do, 
Was  pleased  to  let  the  magnet  wheedle, 

Till  closer  still  the  tempter  drew. 
And  off  at  length  eloped  the  needle. 

T.  Moore. 

The  nine  days  of  mourning  were  spent  in  en- 
tire seclusion  by  Grisell,  who  went  through  every 
round  of  devotions  prescribed  or  recommended  by 
the  Church,  and  felt  relief  and  rest  in  them. 
She  shrank  when  Ridley  on  the  tenth  day  begged 
her  no  longer  to  seclude  herself  in  the  solar,  but 
to  come  down  to  the  hall  and  take  her  place  as 
Lady  of  the  Castle,  otherwise  he  said  he  could  not 
answer  for  the  conduct  of  Copeland's  men. 

'Master  Hardcastle  desires  it  too, '  he  said.  'He 
is  a  good  lad  enough,  but  I  doubt  me  whether  his 
hand  is  strong  enough  over  those  fellows !  You 
need  not  look  for  aught  save  courtesy  from  him ! 
Come  down,  lady,  or  you  will  never  have  your 
rights.' 

'Ah,  Cuthbert,  what  are  my  rights?  ' 
177 


178  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

'To  be  mistress  of  your  own  castle,'  returned 
Ridle}',  'and  that  you  will  never  be  unless  you 
take  the  upper  hand.  Here  are  all  our  household 
eating  with  these  rogues  of  Copeland's,  and  who 
is  to  keep  rule  if  the  lady  comes  not  ? ' 

'Alack,  and  how  am  I  to  do  so? ' 

However,  the  consideration  brought  her  to  ap- 
pear at  the  very  early  dinner,  the  first  meal  of  the 
day,  which  followed  on  the  return  from  mass. 
Pierce  Hardcastle  met  her  shyly.  He  was  a  tall 
slender  stripling,  looking  weak  and  ill,  and  he 
bowed  very  low  as  he  said,  'Greet  you  well,  lady,' 
and  looked  up  for  a  moment  as  if  in  fear  of  what 
he  might  encounter.  Grisell  indeed  was  worn 
down  with  long  watching  and  grief,  and  looked 
haggard  and  drawn  so  as  to  enhance  all  her  scars 
and  distortion  of  feature  into  more  uncomeliness 
than  her  wont.  She  saw  him  shudder  a  little,  but 
his  lame  arm  and  wan  looks  interested  her  kind 
heart.  'I  fear  me  you  are  still  feeling  your  wound, 
sir,'  she  said,  in  the  sweet  voice  which  was  evi- 
dently a  surprise  to  him. 

'It  is  my  plea  for  having  been  a  slug-a-bed  this 
morning,'  he  answered. 

They  sat  down  at  the  table,  Grisell  between 
Ridley  and  Hardcastle,  the  servants  and  men-at- 
arms  beyond.     Porridge  and  broth  and  very  small 


xvn  STRANGE   GUESTS  179 

ale  were  the  fare,  and  salted  meat  would  be  for 
supper,  and  as  Grisell  knew  but  too  well  already, 
her  own  retainers  were  grumbling  at  the  voracious 
appetites  of  the  men-at-arms  as  much  as  did  their 
unwilling  guests  at  the  plainness  and  niggardli- 
ness of  the  supply. 

Thora  had  begged  for  a  further  allowance  of 
beer  for  them,  or  even  to  broach  a  cask  of  wine. 
'For,'  said  she,  Hhey  are  none  such  fiends  as  we 
thought,  if  one  knows  how  to  take  them  courte- 
ously. ' 

'There  is  no  need  that  you  should  have  any 
dealings  with  them,  Thora,'  said  her  lady,  with 
some  displeasure;  'Master  Ridley  sees  to  their 
provision.' 

Thora  tossed  up  her  head  a  little  and  muttered 
something  about  not  being  mewed  out  of  sight 
and  speech  of  all  men.  And  when  she  attended 
her  lady  to  the  hall  there  certainly  were  glances 
between  her  and  a  slim  young  archer. 

The  lady's  presence  was  certainly  a  restraint  on 
the  rude  men-at-arms,  though  two  or  three  of  them 
seemed  to  her  rough,  reckless-looking  men.  After 
the  meal  all  her  kindly  instincts  were  aroused  to 
ask  what  she  could  do  for  the  young  squire,  and 
he  willingly  put  himself  into  her  hands,  for  his 
hurt  had  become  much  more  painful  within  the 


180  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

last  day  or  two,  as  indeed  it  proved  to  be  fester- 
ing, and  in  great  need  of  treatment. 

Before  the  day  was  over  the  two  had  made 
friends,  and  Grisell  had  found  him  to  be  a  gentle, 
scholarly  youth,  whom  the  defence  of  the  Queen 
had  snatched  from  his  studies  into  the  battlefield. 
He  told  her  a  great  deal  about  the  good  King, 
and  his  encouragement  of  his  beloved  scholars  at 
Eton,  and  he  spoke  of  Queen  Margaret  with  an 
enthusiasm  new  to  Grisell,  who  had  only  heard 
her  reviled  as  the  Frenchwoman.  Pierce  could 
speak  with  the  greatest  admiration,  too,  of  his 
own  knight.  Sir  Leonard,  whom  he  viewed  as  the 
pink  of  chivalry,  assuring  Lady  Copeland,  as  he 
called  her,  that  she  need  never  doubt  for  a  moment 
of  his  true  honour  and  courtesy.  Grisell  longed 
to  know,  but  modest  pride  forbade  her  to  ask, 
whether  he  knew  how  matters  stood  with  her  riva]. 
Lady  Eleanor  Audley.  Ridley,  however,  had  no 
such  feeling,  and  he  reported  to  Grisell  what  he 
had  discovered. 

Young  Hardcastle  had  only  once  seen  the  lady, 
and  had  thought  her  very  beautiful,  as  she  looked 
from  a  balcony  when  King  Henry  was  riding  to 
his  Parliament.  Leonard  Copeland,  then  a  squire, 
was  standing  beside  her,  and  it  had  been  cur- 
rently reported  that  he  was  to  be  her  bridegroom. 


XVII  STRANGE   GUESTS  181 

He  had  returned  from  his  captivity  after  the  battle 
of  Northampton  exceedingly  downcast,  but  striv- 
ing vehemently  in  the  cause  of  Lancaster,  and 
Hardcastle  had  heard  that  the  question  had  been 
discussed  whether  the  forced  marriage  had  been 
valid,  or  could  be  dissolved;  but  since  the  bodies 
of  Lord  Whitburn  and  his  son  had  been  found  on 
the  ground  at  Wakefield,  this  had  ceased,  and  it 
was  believed  that  Queen  Margaret  had  commanded 
Sir  Leonard,  on  his  allegiance,  to  go  and  take 
possession  of  Whitburn  and  its  vassals  in  her 
cause. 

But  Pierce  Hardcastle  had  come  to  Ridley's 
opinion,  that  did  his  knight  but  shut  his  eyes,  the 
Lady  Grisell  was  as  good  a  mate  as  man  could 
wish  both  in  word  and  deed. 

'I  would  fain,'  said  he,  'have  the  Lady  Eleanor 
to  look  at,  but  this  lady  to  dress  my  hurts,  ay,  and 
talk  with  me.  Never  met  I  woman  who  was  so 
good  company !  She  might  almost  be  a  scholar  at 
Oxford  for  her  wit. ' 

However  much  solace  the  lady  might  find  in  the 
courtesy  of  Master  Hardcastle,  she  was  not  pleased 
to  find  that  her  hand-maiden  Thora  exchanged 
glances  with  the  young  men-at-arms;  and  in  a  few 
days  Ridley  spoke  to  Grisell,  and  assured  her  that 
mischief  would  ensue  if  the  silly  wench  were  not 


182  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

checked  in  her  habit  of  loitering  and  chattering 
whenever  she  could  escape  from  her  lady's  pres- 
ence in  the  solar,  which  Grisell  used  as  her  bower, 
only  descending  to  the  hall  at  meal-times. 

Grisell  accordingly  rebuked  her  the  next  time 
she  delayed  unreasonably  over  a  message,  but  the 
girl  pouted  and  muttered  something  about  young 
Ralph  Hart  helping  her  with  the  heavy  pitcher  up 
the  stair. 

'It  is  unseemly  for  a  maiden  to  linger  and  get 
help  from  strange  soldiers, '  said  Grisell. 

'No  more  unseemly  than  for  the  dame  to  be  ever 
holding  converse  with  their  captain,'  retorted  the 
North  Country  hand-maiden,  free  of  speech  and 
with  a  toss  of  the  head. 

'Whist,  Thora!  or  you  must  take  a  buffet,'  said 
Grisell,  clenching  a  fist  unused  to  striking,  and 
trying  to  regard  chastisement  as  a  duty.  'You 
know  full  well  that  my  only  speech  with  Master 
Hardcastle  is  as  his  hostess.' 

Thora  laughed.  'Ay,  lady;  I  ken  well  what 
the  men  say.  How  that  poor  youth  is  spell-bound, 
and  that  you  are  casting  your  glamour  over  him 
as  of  old  over  my  poor  old  lady  and  little  Master 
Bernard. ' 

'For  shame,  Thora,  to  bring  me  such  tales ! '  and 
Grisell's  hand  actually  descended  on  her  maiden's 


XVII  STRANGE  GUESTS  183 

face,  but  so  slight  was  the  force  that  it  only  caused 
a  contemptuous  laugh,  which  so  angered  the  young 
mistress  as  to  give  her  energy  to  strike  again  with 
all  her  might. 

'And  you'd  beat  me,'  observed  her  victim, 
roused  to  anger.  '  You  are  so  ill  favoured  yourself 
that  you  cannot  bear  a  man  to  look  on  a  fair 
maid! ' 

'  What  insolence  is  this  ?  '  cried  Grisell,  utterly 
amazed.  'Go  into  the  turret  room,  spin  out  this 
hank,  and  stay  there  till  I  call  you  to  supper. 
Say  your  Ave,  and  recollect  what  beseems  a  mod- 
est maiden.' 

She  spoke  with  authority,  which  Thora  durst 
not  resist,  and  withdrew  still  pouting  and  grum- 
bling. 

Grisell  was  indeed  young  herself  and  inexperi- 
enced, and  knew  not  that  her  wrath  with  the  girl 
might  be  perilous  to  herself,  while  sympathy 
might  have  evoked  wholesome  confidence. 

For  the  maiden,  just  developing  into  northern 
comeliness,  was  attractive  enough  to  win  the 
admiration  of  soldiers  in  garrison  with  nothing  to 
do,  and  on  her  side  their  notice,  their  rough  com- 
pliments, and  even  their  jests,  were  delightful 
compared  with  the  dulness  of  her  mistress's  mourn- 
ing chamber,  and  court  enough  was  paid  to  her 


184  GEISLY   GKISELL  chap,  xvii 

completely  to  turn  her  head.  If  there  were  love 
and  gratitude  lurking  in  the  bottom  of  her  heart 
towards  the  lady  who  had  made  a  fair  and  skilful 
maiden  out  of  the  wild  fisher  girl,  all  was  smoth- 
ered in  the  first  strong  impulse  of  love  for  this 
young  Ralph  Hart,  the  first  to  awaken  the  woman 
out  of  the  child. 

The  obstacles  which  Grisell,  like  other  prudent 
mistresses  in  all  times,  placed  in  the  course  of  this 
true  love,  did  but  serve  to  alienate  the  girl  and 
place  her  in  opposition.  The  creature  had  grown 
up  as  wild  and  untamed  as  one  of  the  seals  on  the 
shore,  and  though  she  had  had  a  little  training 
and  teaching  of  late  years,  it  was  entirely  power- 
less when  once  the  passion  was  evoked  in  her  by 
the  new  intercourse  and  rough  compliments  of 
the  young  archer,  and  she  was  for  the  time  at  his 
beck  and  call,  regarding  her  lady  as  her  tyrant  and 
enemy.     It  was  the  old  story  of  many  a  household. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

WITCHERY 

The  lady  has  gone  to  her  secret  bower, 
The  bower  that  was  guarded  by  word  and  by  spell. 
Scott,  The  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel. 

'Master  Squire,'  said  the  principal  man-at- 
arms  of  the  garrison  to  Pierce  Hardcastle,  'is  it 
known  to  you  what  this  laidly  dame's  practices  be  ?  ' 

'I  know  her  for  a  dame  worthy  of  all  honour 
and  esteem, '  returned  the  esquire,  turning  hastily 
round  in  wrath.  He  much  disliked  this  man,  a 
regular  mercenary  of  the  free  lance  description,  a 
fellow  of  French  or  Alsatian  birth,  of  middle  age, 
much  strength,  and  on  account  of  a  great  gash  and 
sideways  twist  of  his  snub  nose  always  known  as 
Tordu,  and  strongly  suspected  that  he  had  been 
sent  as  a  sort  of  spy  or  check  on  Sir  Leonard  Cope- 
land  and  on  himself.  The  man  replied  with  a 
growl : 

'Ah  ha!  Sans  doubt  she  makes  her  niggard  fare 
seem  dainty  cakes  to  those  under  her  art. ' 

In  fact  the  evident  pleasure  young  Hardcastle 
185 


186  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

took  in  the  Lady  Castellane's  society,  the  great 
improvement  in  his  wound  under  her  treatment, 
and  the  manner  in  which  the  serfs  around  came 
to  ask  her  aid  in  their  maladies,  had  excited  the 
suspicion  of  the  men-at-arms.  They  were  older 
men,  hardened  and  roughened,  inclined  to  despise 
his  youth,  and  to  resent  the  orderly  discipline  of 
the  household,  which  under  Ridley  went  on  as 
before,  and  the  murmurs  of  Thora  led  to  inquiries, 
answered  after  the  exaggerated  fashion  of  gossip. 

There  were  outcries  about  provisions  and  wine 
or  ale,  and  shouts  demanding  more,  and  when 
Pierce  declared  that  he  would  not  have  the  lady 
insulted,  there  was  a  hoarse  loud  laugh.  He  was 
about  to  order  Tordu  as  ringleader  into  custody, 
but  Ridley  said  to  him  aside,  'Best  not,  sir;  his 
fellows  will  not  lay  a  finger  on  him,  and  if  we  did 
so,  there  would  be  a  brawl,  and  we  might  come  by 
the  worst.' 

So  Pierce  could  only  say,  with  all  the  force  he 
could,  'Bear  in  mind  that  Sir  Leonard  Copeland 
is  lord  here,  and  all  miscourtesy  to  his  lady  is  an 
offence  to  himself,  which  will  be  visited  with  his 
Avrath. ' 

The  sneering  laugh  came  again,  and  Tordu 
made  answer,  'Ay,  ay,  sir;  she  has  bewitched  you, 
and  we'll  soon  have  him  and  you  free.' 


xviii  WITCHERY  187 

Pierce  was  angered  into  flying  at  the  man  with 
his  sword,  but  the  other  men  came  between,  and 
Ridley  held  him  back. 

'You  are  still  a  maimed  man,  sir.  To  be  foiled 
would  be  worse  than  to  let  it  pass. ' 

'There,  fellow,  I'll  spare  you,  so  you  ask  pardon 
of  me  and  the  lady. ' 

Perhaps  they  thought  they  had  gone  too  far,  for 
there  was  a  sulky  growl  that  might  pass  for  an 
apology,  and  Ridley's  counsel  was  decided  that 
Pierce  had  better  not  pursue  the  matter. 

What  had  been  said,  however,  alarmed  him,  and 
set  him  on  the  watch,  and  the  next  evening,  when 
Hardcastle  was  walking  along  the  cliffs  beyond 
the  castle,  the  lad  who  acted  as  his  page  came  to 
him,  with  round,  wondering  eyes,  'Sir,'  said  he, 
after  a  little  hesitation,  'is  it  sooth  that  the  lady 
spake  a  spell  over  your  arm  ?  ' 

'Not  to  my  knowledge,'  said  Pierce  smiling. 

'  It  might  be  without  your  knowledge, '  said  the 
boy.  '  They  say  it  healed  as  no  chirurgeon  could 
have  healed  it,  and  by  magic  arts. ' 

'Ha!  the  lubbard  oafs.  You  know  better  than 
to  believe  them,  Dick.' 

'Nay,  sir,  but  'tis  her  bower-woman  and  Madge, 
the  cook's  wife.  Both  aver  that  the  lady  hath 
bewitched  whoever  comes  in  her  way  ever  since 


188  GRISLY  GEISELL  chap. 

she  crossed  the  door.  She  hath  wrought  strange 
things  with  her  father,  mother,  and  brothers. 
They  say  she  bound  them  to  her;  that  the  little 
one  could  not  brook  to  have  her  out  of  sight;  yet 
she  worked  on  him  so  that  he  was  crooked  and 
shrivelled.  Yet  he  wept  and  cried  to  have  her 
ever  with  him,  while  he  peaked  and  pined  and 
dwindled  away.  And  her  mother,  who  was  once 
a  fine,  stately,  masterful  dame,  pined  to  mere  skin 
and  bone,  and  lay  in  lethargy;  and  now  she  is 
winding  her  charms  on  you,  sir! ' 

Pierce  made  an  exclamation  of  loathing  and  con- 
tempt. Dick  lowered  his  voice  to  a  whisper  of 
awe. 

'Nay,  sir,  but  Le  Tordu  and  Ned  of  the  Bludg- 
eon purpose  to  ride  over  to  Shields  to  the  wise, 
and  they  will  deal  with  her  when  he  has  found  the 
witch's  mark.' 

'The  lady!'  cried  Hardcastle  in  horror.  'You 
see  her  what  she  is !  A  holy  woman  if  ever  there 
was  one !     At  mass  each  morning. ' 

'Ay,  but  the  wench  Thora  told  Ralph  that  'tis 
prayers  backward  slie  says  there.  Thora  has  oft 
heard  her  at  night,  and  'twas  no  Ave  nor  Credo 
as  they  say  them  here.' 

Pierce  burst  out  laughing.  'I  should  think 
not.     They  speak  gibberish,  and  she,  for  I  have 


\ 


XVIII  WITCHERY  189 

heard  her  in  Church,  speaks  words  with  a  mean- 
ing, as  her  priest  and  nuns  taught  her. ' 

'But  her  face,  sir.  There's  the  Evil  One's 
mark.     One  side  says  nay  to  the  other. ' 

'The  Evil  One!  Nay,  Dick,  he  is  none  other 
than  Sir  Leonard  himself.  'Twas  he  that  all  un- 
wittingly, when  a  boy,  fired  a  barrel  of  powder 
close  to  her  and  marred  her  countenance.  You 
are  not  fool  and  ass  enough  to  give  credence  to 
these  tales. ' 

'I  said  not  that  I  did,  sir,'  replied  the  page; 
'but  it  is  what  the  men-at-arms  swear  to,  having 
drawn  it  from  the  serving-maid. ' 

'The  adder,'  muttered  Pierce. 

'Moreover,'  continued  the  boy,  'they  have  found 
out  that  there  is  a  wise  man  witch-finder  at  Shields. 
They  mean  to  be  revenged  for  the  scanty  fare  and 
mean  providings ;  and  they  deem  it  will  be  a  merry 
jest  in  this  weary  hold,  and  that  Sir  Leonard  will 
be  too  glad  to  be  quit  of  his  gruesome  dame  to 
call  them  to  account. ' 

It  was  fearful  news,  for  Pierce  well  knew  his 
own  incompetence  to  restrain  these  strong  and 
violent  men.  He  did  not  know  where  his  knight 
was  to  be  found,  and,  if  he  had  known,  it  was 
only  too  likely  that  these  terrible  intentions  might 
be  carried  out  before  any  messenger  could  reach 


190  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

him.  Indeed,  the  belief  in  sorcery  was  universal, 
and  no  rank  was  exempt  from  the  danger  of  the 
accusation.  Thora's  treachery  was  specially  peril- 
ous. All  that  the  young  man  could  do  was  to 
seek  counsel  with  Cuthbert  Ridley,  and  even  this 
he  was  obliged  to  do  in  the  stable,  bidding  Dick 
keep  watch  outside.  Ridley  too  had  heard  a 
spiteful  whisper  or  two,  but  it  had  seemed  too  pre- 
posterous for  him  to  attend  to  it.  'You  are  young, 
Hardcastle,'  he  said,  with  a  smile,  'or  you  would 
know  that  there  is  nothing  a  grumbler  will  not 
say,  nor  how  far  men's  tongues  lie  from  their 
hands. ' 

'Nay,  but  if  their  hands  did  begin  to  act,  how 
should  we  save  the  lady?  There's  nothing  Tordu 
would  not  do.  Could  we  get  her  away  to  some 
nunnery  ? ' 

'There  is  no  nunnery  nearer  at  hand  than  Gates- 
head, and  there  the  Prioress  is  a  Musgrove,  no 
friend  to  my  lord.  She  might  give  her  up,  on 
such  a  charge,  for  holy  Church  is  no  guardian  in 
them.  My  poor  bairn !  That  ingrate  Thora  too ! 
I  would  fain  wring  her  neck!  Yet  here  are  our 
fisher  folk,  who  love  her  for  her  bounty. ' 

'Would  they  hide  her?'  asked  Pierce. 

'That  serving-wench  —  would  I  had  drowned 
her  ere  bringing  her  here  —  might  turn  them,  and, 


XVIII  WITCHERY  191 

were  she  tracked,  I  ken  not  who  might  not  be 
scared  or  tortured  into  giving  her  up ! ' 

Here  Dick  looked  in.  'Tordu  is  crossing  the 
yard,'  he  said. 

They  both  became  immediately  absorbed  in 
studying  the  condition  of  Featherstone's  horse, 
which  had  never  wholly  recovered  the  flight  from 
Wakefield. 

After  a  time  Ridley  was  able  to  steal  away,  and 
visit  Grisell  in  her  apartment.  She  came  to  meet 
him,  and  he  read  alarm,  incredulous  alarm,  in  her 
face.  She  put  her  hands  in  his.  'Is  it  sooth?' 
she  said,  in  a  strange,  awe-stricken  voice. 

'You  have  heard,  then,  my  wench?' 

'Thora  speaks  in  a  strange  tone,  as  though  evil 
were  brewing  against  me.  But  you,  and  Master 
Hardcastle,  and  Sir  Lucas,  and  the  rest  would 
never  let  them  touch  me  ?  ' 

'They  should  only  do  so  through  my  heart's 
blood,  dear  child ;  but  mine  would  be  soon  shed, 
and  Hardcastle  is  a  weakly  lad,  whom  those  fel- 
lows believe  to  be  bewitched.  We  must  find  some 
other  way ! ' 

'Sir  Leonard  would  save  me  if  he  knew.  Alas ! 
the  good  Earl  of  Salisbury  is  dead. ' 

"Tis  true.  If  we  could  hide  you  till  we  be  rid 
of  these  men.  But  where?'  and  he  made  a  de- 
spairing gesture. 


192  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

Grisell  stood  stunned  and  dazed  as  the  horrible 
prospect  rose  before  her  of  being  seized  by  these 
lawless  men,  tortured  by  the  savage  hands  of  the 
witch-finder,  subjected  to  a  cruel  death,  by  fire, 
or  at  best  by  water.  She  pressed  her  hands  to- 
gether, feeling  utterly  desolate,  and  prayed  her 
prayer  to  the  God  of  the  fatherless  to  save  her  or 
brace  her  to  endure. 

Presently  Cuthbert  exclaimed,  'Would  Master 
Groats,  the  Poticary,  shelter  you  till  this  is  over- 
past? His  wife  is  deaf  and  must  perforce  keep 
counsel. ' 

'He  would!  I  verily  believe  he  would,'  ex- 
claimed Grisell;  'and  no  suspicion  would  light  on 
him.     How  soon  can  I  go  to  him,  and  how  ? ' 

'If  it  may  be,  this  very  night,'  said  Ridley.  'I 
missed  two  of  the  rogues,  and  who  knows  whither 
they  may  have  gone  ?  ' 

'Will  there  be  time?'  said  the  poor  girl,  look- 
ing round  in  terror. 

'Certes.  The  nearest  witch-finder  is  at  Shields, 
and  they  cannot  get  there  and  back  under  two 
days.  Have  you  jewels,  lady?  And  hark  you, 
trust  not  to  Thora.  She  is  the  worst  traitor  of 
all.  Ask  me  no  more,  but  be  ready  to  come  down 
when  you  hear  a  whistle.' 

That  Thora  could  be  a  traitress  and  turn  against 


XVIII  WITCHERY  193 

her  —  the  girl  whom  she  had  taught,  trained,  and 
civilised  —  was  too  much  to  believe.  She  would 
almost,  in  spite  of  cautions,  have  asked  her  if  it 
were  possible,  and  tried  to  explain  the  true  char- 
acter of  the  services  that  were  so  cruelly  misin- 
terpreted ;  but  as  she  descended  the  dark  winding 
stair  to  supper,  she  heard  the  following  colloquy : 

'You  will  not  deal  hardly  with  her,  good  Ralph, 
dear  Ralph?' 

'  That  thou  shalt  see,  maid  I  On  thy  life,  not  a 
word  to  her. ' 

'Nay,  but  she  is  a  white  witch!  she  does  no 
evil.' 

'What!  Going  back  on  what  thou  saidst  of  her 
brother  and  her  mother.  Take  thou  heed,  or  they 
will  take  order  with  thee. ' 

'Thou  wilt  take  care  of  me,  good  Ralph.  Oh! 
I  have  done  it  for  thee. ' 

'Never  fear,  little  one;  only  shut  thy  pretty 
little  mouth ; '  and  there  was  a  sound  of  kissing. 

*  What  will  they  do  to  her? '  in  a  lower  voice. 

'Thou  wilt  see!  Sink  or  swim  thou  knowst. 
Ha!  ha!  She  will  have  enough  of  the  draught 
that  is  so  free  to  us.' 

Grisell,  trembling  and  horror-stricken,  could 
only  lean  against  the  wall  hoping  that  her  beating 
heart  did  not  sound  loud  enough  to  betray  her. 


194  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap,  xviii 

till  a  call  from  the  hall  put  an  end  to  the  terrible 
whispers. 

She  hurried  upwards  lest  Thora  should  come  up 
and  perceive  how  near  she  had  been,  then  de- 
scended and  took  her  seat  at  supper,  trying  to  con- 
verse with  Pierce  as  usual,  but  noting  with  terror 
the  absence  of  the  two  soldiers. 

How  her  evasion  was  to  be  effected  she  knew 
not.  The  castle  keys  were  never  delivered  to  her, 
but  always  to  Hardcastle,  and  she  saw  him  take 
them;  but  she  received  from  Ridley  a  look  and 
sign  which  meant  that  she  was  to  be  ready,  and 
when  she  left  the  hall  she  made  up  a  bundle  of 
needments,  and  in  it  her  precious  books  and  all 
the  jewels  she  had  inherited.  That  Thora  did 
not  follow  her  was  a  boon. 


CHAPTER   XIX 

A   MARCH  HAEE 

Yonder  is  a  man  in  sight  — 
Yonder  is  a  house  —  but  where  ? 
No,  she  must  not  enter  there. 
To  the  caves,  and  to  the  brooks, 
To  the  clouds  of  heaven  she  looks. 

Wordsworth,  Feast  of  Brougham  Castle. 

Long,  long  did  Grisell  kneel  in  an  agony  of 
prayer  and  terror,  as  she  seemed  already  to  feel 
savage  hands  putting  her  to  the  ordeal. 

The  castle  had  long  been  quiet  and  dark,  so  far 
as  she  knew,  when  there  was  a  faint  sound  and  a 
low  whistle.  She  sprang  to  the  door  and  held 
Ridley's  hand. 

'Now  is  the  time,'  he  said,  under  his  breath; 
'the  squire  waits.  That  treacherous  little  bag- 
gage is  safe  locked  into  the  cellar,  whither  I  lured 
her  to  find  some  malvoisie  for  the  rascaille  crew. 
Come. ' 

He  was  without  his  boots,  and  silently  led  the 
way  along  the  narroAV  passage  to  the  postern  door, 
where  stood  young  Hardcastle  with  the  keys.     He 

195 


196  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

let  them  out  and  crossed  the  court  with  them  to 
the  little  door  leading  to  a  steep  descent  of  the 
cliffs  by  a  narrow  path.  Not  till  the  sands  were 
reached  did  any  of  the  three  dare  to  speak,  and 
then  Grisell  held  out  her  hands  in  thanks  and 
farewell. 

'May  I  not  guard  you  on  your  way,  lady  ? '  said 
Pierce. 

'Best  not,  sir,'  returned  Ridley;  'best  not  know 
whither  she  is  gone.  I  shall  be  back  again  before 
I  am  missed  or  your  rogues  are  stirring. ' 

'When  Sir  Leonard  knows  of  their  devices, 
lady,'  said  Pierce,  'then  will  Ridley  tell  him 
where  to  find  you  and  bring  you  back  in  all 
honour. ' 

Grisell  could  only  sigh,  and  try  to  speak  her 
thanks  to  the  young  man,  who  kissed  her  hand, 
and  stood  watching  her  and  Ridley  as  the  waning 
moon  lighted  them  over  the  glistening  sands,  till 
they  sought  the  friendly  shadows  of  the  cliffs. 
And  thus  Grisell  Dacre  parted  from  the  home  of 
her  fathers. 

'Cuthbert,'  she  said,  'should  you  see  Sir  Leon- 
ard, let  him  know  that  if  —  if  he  would  be  free 
from  any  bond  to  me  I  will  aid  in  breaking  it, 
and  ask  only  dowry  enough  to  obtain  entrance  to 
a  convent,  while  he  weds  the  lady  he  loves. ' 


XIX  A  MABCH  HARE  197 

Ridley  interrupted  her  with  imprecations  on  the 
knight,  and  exhortations  to  her  to  hold  her  own, 
and  not  abandon  her  rights.  'If  he  keep  the  lands, 
he  should  keep  the  wife, '  was  his  cry. 

'His  word  and  heart '  began  Grisell. 

'Folly,  my  wench.  No  question  but  she  is 
bestowed  on  some  one  else.  You  do  not  want  to 
be  quit  of  him  and  be  mewed  in  a  nunnery. ' 

'I  only  crave  to  hide  my  head  and  not  be  the 
bane  of  his  life. ' 

'Pshaw!  You  have  seen  for  yourself.  Once 
get  over  the  first  glance  and  you  are  worth  the 
fairest  dame  that  ever  was  jousted  for  in  the  lists. 
Send  him  at  least  a  message  as  though  it  w^ere  not 
your  will  to  cast  him  off. ' 

'If  you  will  have  it  so,  then,'  said  Grisell,  'tell 
him  that  if  it  be  his  desire,  I  will  strive  to  make 
him  a  true,  loyal,  and  loving  wife. ' 

The  last  words  came  w4th  a  sob,  and  Ridley  gave 
a  little  inward  chuckle,  as  of  one  who  suspected 
that  the  duties  of  the  good  and  loving  wife  would 
not  be  unwillingly  undertaken. 

Castle-bred  ladies  were  not  much  given  to  long 
walks,  and  though  the  distance  was  only  two 
miles,  it  was  a  good  deal  for  Grisell,  and  she 
plodded  on  wearily,  to  the  sound  of  the  lap  of  the 
sea  and  the  cries  of  the  gulls.     The  caverns  of 


198  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

the  rock  looked  very  black  and  gloomy,  and  she 
clung  to  Ridley,  almost  expecting  something  to 
spring  out  on  her;  but  all  was  still,  and  the  pale 
eastward  light  began  to  be  seen  over  the  sea  be- 
fore they  turned  away  from  it  to  ascend  to  the 
scattered  houses  of  the  little  rising  town. 

The  bells  of  the  convent  had  begun  to  ring  for 
lauds,  but  it  was  only  twilight  when  they  reached 
the  wall  of  Lambert's  garden  of  herbs,  where 
there  was  a  little  door  that  yielded  to  Ridley's 
push.  The  house  was  still  closed,  and  hoar  frost 
lay  on  the  leaves,  but  Grisell  proposed  to  hide 
herself  in  the  little  shed  which  served  the  purpose 
of  tool-house  and  summer-house  till  she  could 
make  her  entrance.  She  felt  sure  of  a  welcome, 
and  almost  constrained  Cuthbert  to  leave  her,  so 
as  to  return  to  the  Tower  early  enough  to  avert 
suspicion  —  an  easier  matter  as  the  men-at-arms 
were  given  to  sleeping  as  late  as  they  could.  He 
would  make  an  errand  to  the  Apothecary's  as  soon 
as  he  could,  so  as  to  bring  intelligence. 

There  sat  Grisell,  looking  out  on  the  brighten- 
ing sky,  while  the  blackbirds  and  thrushes  were 
bursting  into  song,  and  sweet  odours  rising  from 
the  spring  buds  of  the  aromatic  plants  around, 
and  a  morning  bell  rang  from  the  great  monastery 
church.     With  that  she  saw  the  house  door  open. 


XIX  A  MARCH  HARE  199 

and  Master  Lambert  in  a  fur  cap  and  gown  turned 
up  with  lambs '-wool  come  out  into  the  garden, 
basket  in  hand,  and  chirp  to  the  birds  to  come 
down  and  be  fed. 

It  was  pretty  to  see  how  the  mavis  and  the 
merle,  the  sparrow,  chaffinch,  robin,  and  tit  flut- 
tered round,  and  Grisell  waited  a  moment  to  watch 
them  before  she  stepped  forth  and  said,  'Ah! 
Master  Groot,  here  is  another  poor  bird  to  implore 
your  bounty. ' 

'Lady  Grisell,'  he  cried,  with  a  start. 

'Ah!  not  that  name,'  she  said;  'not  a  word. 
O  Master  Lambert,  I  came  by  night ;  none  have 
seen  me,  none  but  good  Cuthbert  Ridley  ken 
where  I  am.  There  can  be  no  peril  to  you  or 
yours  if  you  will  give  shelter  for  a  little  while  to 
a  poor  maid. ' 

'Dear  lady,  we  will  do  all  we  can,'  returned 
Lambert.  'Fear  not.  How  pale  you  are.  You 
have  walked  all  night !  Come  and  rest.  None 
will  follow.  You  are  sore  spent !  Clemence  shall 
bring  you  a  warm  drink !  Condescend,  dear  lady, ' 
and  he  made  her  lean  on  his  arm,  and  brought  her 
into  his  large  living  room,  and  placed  her  in  the 
comfortable  cross-legged  chair  with  straps  and 
cushions  as  a  back,  while  he  went  into  some  back 
settlement  to  inform  his  wife  of  her  visitor;  and 


200  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

presently  they  brought  her  warm  water,  with  some 
refreshing  perfume,  in  a  brass  basin,  and  he  knelt 
on  one  knee  to  hold  it  to  her,  while  she  bathed 
her  face  and  hands  with  a  sponge  —  a  rare  luxury. 
She  started  at  every  sound,  but  Lambert  assured 
her  that  she  was  safe,  as  no  one  ever  came  beyond 
the  booth.  His  Clemence  had  no  gossips,  and  the 
garden  could  not  be  overlooked.  While  some 
broth  was  heated  for  her  she  began  to  explain  her 
peril,  but  he  exclaimed,  'Methinks  I  know,  lady, 
if  it  was  thereanent  that  a  great  strapping  Hol- 
lander fellow  from  your  Tower  came  to  ask  me  for 
a  charm  against  gramarie,  with  hints  that  'twas  in 
high  places.  'Twas  enough  to  make  one  laugh  to 
see  the  big  lubber  try  to  whisper  hints,  and  shiver 
and  shake,  as  he  showed  me  a  knot  in  his  matted 
locks  and  asked  if  it  were  not  the  enemy's  tying. 
I  told  him  'twas  tied  by  the  enemy  indeed,  the 
deadly  sin  of  sloth,  and  that  a  stout  Dutchman 
ought  to  be  ashamed  of  himself  for  carrying  such 
a  head  within  or  without.  But  I  scarce  bethought 
me  the  impudent  Schelm  could  have  thought  of 
you,  lady.' 

'  Hush  again.  Forget  the  word !  They  are  gone 
to  Shields  in  search  of  the  witch-finder,  to  pinch 
me,  and  probe  me,  and  drown  me,  or  burn  me,' 
cried  Grisell,  clasping  her  hands.     'Oh!  take  me 


XIX  A  MARCH  HARE  201 

somewhere  if  you  cannot  safely  hide  me ;  I  would 
not  bring  trouble  on  you ! ' 

'You  need  not  fear,'  he  answered.  'None  will 
enter  here  but  by  my  good-will,  and  I  will  bar  the 
garden  door  lest  any  idle  lad  should  pry  in ;  but 
they  come  not  here.  The  tortoise  who  crawls 
about  in  the  summer  fills  them  with  too  much 
terror  for  them  to  venture,  and  is  better  than  any 
watch-dog.  Now,  let  me  touch  your  pulse.  Ah ! 
I  would  prescribe  lying  down  on  the  bed  and 
resting  for  the  day. ' 

She  complied,  and  Clemence  took  her  to  the 
upper  floor,  where  it  was  the  pride  of  the  Flemish 
housewife  to  keep  a  guest-chamber,  absolutely 
neat,  though  very  little  furnished,  and  indeed 
seldom  or  never  used;  but  she  solicitously  stroked 
the  big  bed,  and  signed  to  Grisell  to  lie  down  in 
the  midst  of  pillows  of  down,  above  and  below, 
taking  off  her  hood,  mantle,  and  shoes,  and 
smoothing  her  down  with  nods  and  sweet  smiles, 
so  that  she  fell  sound  asleep. 

When  she  awoke  the  sun  was  at  the  meridian, 
and  she  came  down  to  the  noontide  meal.  Mas- 
ter Groot  was  looking  much  entertained. 

Wearmouth,  he  said,  was  in  a  commotion.  The 
great  Dutch  Whitburn  man-at-arms  had  come  in 
full  of  the  wonderful  story.     Not  only  had  the 


202  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

grisly  lady  vanished,  but  a  cross-bow  man  had  shot 
an  enormous  hare  on  the  moor,  a  creature  with  one 
ear  torn  off,  and  a  seam  on  its  face,  and  Masters 
Hardcastle  and  Ridley  altogether  favoured  the 
belief  that  it  was  the  sorceress  herself  without 
time  to  change  her  shape.  Did  Mynheer  Groot 
hold  with  them? 

For  though  Dutch  and  Flemings  were  not 
wholly  friendly  at  home,  yet  in  a  strange  country 
they  held  together,  and  remembered  that  they  were 
both  Netherlanders,  and  Hannekin  would  fain 
know  what  thought  the  wise  man. 

'Depend  on  it,  there  was  no  time  for  a  change,' 
gravely  said  Groot.  'Have  not  Nostradamus, 
Albertus  Magnus,  and  Rogerus  Bacon'  (he  was 
heaping  names  together  as  he  saw  Hannekin 's 
big  gray  eyes  grow  rounder  and  rounder)  'all 
averred  that  the  great  Diabolus  can  give  his  min- 
ions power  to  change  themselves  at  will  into 
hares,  cats,  or  toads  to  transport  themselves  to  the 
Sabbath  on  Walpurgs'  night?  ' 

'You  deem  it  in  sooth,'  said  the  Dutchman,  'for 
know  you  that  the  parish  priest  swears,  and  so  do 
the  more  part  of  the  villein  fisher  folk,  that  there's 
no  sorcery  in  the  matter,  but  that  she  is  a  true 
and  holy  maid,  with  no  powers  save  what  the 
Saints  had  given  her,  and  that  her  cures  were  by 


XIX  A  MARCH  HARE  203 

skill.  Yet  such  was  scarce  like  to  a  mere  Jung- 
vrow. ' 

It  went  sorely  against  Master  Lambert's  feel- 
ings, as  well  as  somewhat  against  his  conscience, 
to  encourage  the  notion  of  the  death  of  his  guest 
as  a  hare,  though  it  ensured  her  safety  and  pre- 
vented a  search.  He  replied  that  her  skill  cer- 
tainly was  uncommon  in  a  Jungvrow,  beyond 
nature,  no  doubt,  and  if  they  were  unholy,  it  was 
well  that  the  arblaster  had  made  a  riddance  of 
her. 

'By  the  same  token,'  added  Hannekin,  'the  elf 
lock  came  out  of  my  hair  this  very  morn,  I  having, 
as  you  bade  me,  combed  it  each  morn  with  the 
horse's  currycomb.' 

Proof  positive,  as  Lambert  was  glad  to  allow 
him  to  believe.  And  the  next  day  all  Sunder- 
land and  the  two  Wearmouths  believed  that  the 
dead  hare  had  shrieked  in  a  human  voice  on  be- 
ing thrown  on  a  fire,  and  had  actually  shown  the 
hands  and  feet  of  a  woman  before  it  was  con- 
sumed. 

It  was  all  the  safer  for  Grisell  as  long  as  she 
was  not  recognised,  and  of  this  there  was  little 
danger.  She  was  scarcely  known  in  Wearmouth, 
and  could  go  to  mass  at  the  Abbey  Church  in  a 
deep  black  hood  and  veil.     Master  Lambert  some- 


204  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap,  xix 

times  received  pilgrims  from  his  own  country  on 
their  way  to  English  shrines,  and  she  could  easily 
pass  for  one  of  these  if  her  presence  were  per- 
ceived, but  except  to  mass  in  very  early  morning, 
she  never  went  beyond  the  garden,  where  the 
spring  beauty  was  enjoyment  to  her  in  the  midst 
of  her  loneliness  and  entire  doubt  as  to  her  future. 

It  was  a  grand  old  church,  too,  with  low-browed 
arches,  reminding  her  of  the  dear  old  chapel  of 
Wilton,  and  with  a  lofty  though  undecorated 
square  tower,  entered  by  an  archway  adorned  with 
curious  twisted  snakes  with  long  beaks,  stretch- 
ing over  and  under  one  another. 

The  low  heavy  columns,  the  round  circles,  and 
the  small  windows,  casting  a  very  dim  religious 
light,  gave  Grisell  a  sense  of  being  in  the  atmos- 
phere of  that  best  beloved  place,  Wilton  Abbey. 
She  longed  after  Sister  Avice's  wisdom  and  ten- 
derness, and  wondered  whether  her  lands  would 
purchase  from  her  knight,  power  to  return  thither 
with  dower  enough  to  satisfy  the  demands  of  the 
Proctor.  It  was  a  hope  that  seemed  like  an  inlet 
of  light  in  her  loneliness,  when  no  one  was  faith- 
ful save  Cuthbert  Ridley,  and  she  felt  cut  to  the 
heart  above  all  by  Thora's  defection  and  cruel 
accusations,  not  knowing  that  half  was  owing  to 
the  intoxication  of  love,  and  the  other  half  to  a 
gossiping  tongue. 


CHAPTER   XX 

A   BLIGHT   ON   THE    WHITE   EOSE 

Witness  Aire's  unhappy  water 

Where  the  ruthless  Clifford  fell, 
And  when  Wharfe  ran  red  with  slaughter 

On  the  day  of  Towton's  field. 
Gathering  in  its  guilty  flood 
The  carnage  and  the  ill  spilt  blood 

That  forty  thousand  lives  could  yield. 

SouTHEY,  Funeral  Song  of  Princess  Charlotte. 

Grisell  from  the  first  took  her  part  in  the  Apoth- 
ecary's household.  Occupation  was  a  boon  to 
her,  and  she  not  only  spun  and  made  lace  with 
Clemence,  but  showed  her  new  patterns  learned 
in  old  days  at  Wilton ;  and  still  more  did  she 
enjoy  assisting  the  master  of  the  house  in  mak- 
ing his  compounds,  learning  new  nostrums  her- 
self, and  imparting  others  to  him,  showing  a  deli- 
cacy of  finger  which  the  old  Fleming  could  not 
emulate.  In  the  fabrication  of  perfumes  for  the 
pouncet  box,  and  sweetmeats  prepared  with  honey 
and  sugar,  she  proved  to  have  a  dainty  hand,  so 
that  Lambert,  who  would  not  touch  her  jewels, 
206 


206  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

declared  that  she  was  fully  earning  her  mainte- 
nance by  the  assistance  that  she  gave  to  him. 

They  were  not  molested  by  the  war,  which  was 
decidedly  a  war  of  battles,  not  of  sieges,  but  they 
heard  far  more  of  tidings  than  were  wont  to  reach 
Whitburn  Tower.  They  knew  of  the  advance  of 
Edward  to  London;  and  the  terrible  battle  of 
Towton  begun,  was  fought  out  while  the  snow  fell 
far  from  bloodless,  on  Palm  Sunday;  and  while 
the  choir  boys  had  been  singing  their  G-loria,  laus 
et  honor  in  the  gallery  over  the  church  door,  shiv- 
ering a  little  at  the  untimely  blast,  there  had  been 
grim  and  awful  work,  when  for  miles  around  the 
Wharfe  and  Aire  the  snow  lay  mixed  with  blood. 
That  the  Yorkists  had  gained  was  known,  and 
that  the  Queen  and  Prince  had  fled;  but  nothing 
was  heard  of  the  fate  of  individuals,  and  Master 
Lambert  was  much  occupied  with  tidings  from 
Bruges,  whence  information  came,  in  a  messenger 
sent  by  a  notary  that  his  uncle,  an  old  miser, 
whose  harsh  displeasure  at  his  marriage  had  driven 
him  forth,  was  just  dead,  leaving  him  heir  to  a 
fairly  prosperous  business  and  a  house  in  the  city. 

To  return  thither  was  of  course  Lambert's  inten- 
tion as  soon  as  he  could  dispose  of  his  English 
property.  He  entreated  Grisell  to  accompany 
him  and  Clemence,  assuring  her  that  at  the  chief 


XX  A  BLIGHT  ON  THE   WHITE   ROSE  207 

city  of  SO  great  a  prince  as  Duke  Philip  of  Bur- 
gundy, she  would  have  a  better  hope  of  hearing 
tidings  of  her  husband  than  in  a  remote  town  like 
Sunderland;  and  that  if  she  still  wished  to  dis- 
pose of  her  jewels  she  would  have  a  far  better 
chance  of  so  doing.  He  was  arguing  the  point 
with  her,  when  there  was  a  voice  in  the  stall  out- 
side which  made  Grisell  start,  and  Lambert,  going 
out,  brought  in  Cuthbert  Ridley,  staggering  under 
the  weight  of  his  best  suit  of  armour,  and  with  a 
bundle  and  bag  under  his  mantle. 

Grisell  sprang  up  eagerly  to  meet  him,  but  as 
she  put  her  hands  into  his  he  looked  sorrowfully 
at  her,  and  she  asked  under  her  breath,  'Ah!  Sir 
Leonard ? ' 

'No  tidings  of  the  recreant,'  growled  Ridley, 
'but  ill  tidings  for  both  of  you.  The  Dacres  of 
Gilsland  are  on  us,  claiming  your  castle  and  lands 
as  male  heirs  to  your  father. ' 

'Do  they  know  that  I  live?  '  asked  Grisell,  'or  ' 
—  unable  to  control  a  little  laugh  —  'do  they 
deem  that  I  was  slain  in  the  shape  of  a  hare  ? ' 

'Or  better  than  that,'  put  in  Lambert;  'they 
have  it  now  in  the  wharves  that  the  corpse  of  the 
hare  took  the  shape  and  hands  of  a  woman  when 
in  the  hall.' 

'I  ken  not,  the  long-tongued  rogues,'  said  Rid- 


208  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

ley;  'but  if  my  young  lady  were  standing  living 
and  life-like  before  them  as,  thank  St.  Hilda,  I 
see  her  now,  the}'  would  claim  it  all  the  more  as 
male  heirs,  and  this  new  King  Edward  has  granted 
old  Sir  John  seisin,  being  that  she  is  the  wife  of 
one  of  King  Henry's  men! ' 

'Are  they  there?     How  did  you  escape?  ' 

'I  got  timely  notice,'  said  Cuthbert.  'Twenty 
strong  halted  over  the  night  at  Yeoman  Kester's 
farm  on  Heather  Gill  —  a  fellow  that  would  do 
anything  for  me  since  we  fought  side  by  side  on 
the  day  of  the  Herrings.  So  he  sends  out  his  two 
grandsons  to  tell  me  what  they  were  after,  while 
they  were  drinking  his  good  ale  to  health  of  their 
King  Edward.  So  forewarned,  forearmed.  We 
have  left  them  empty  walls,  get  in  as  they  can  or 
may  —  unless  that  traitor  Tordu  chooses  to  stay 
and  make  terms  with  them. ' 

'Master  Hardcastle!  Would  he  fly?  Surely 
not! '  asked  Grisell. 

'Master  Hardcastle,  with  Dutch  Hannekin  and 
some  of  the  better  sort,  went  off  long  since  to  join 
their  knight's  banner,  and  the  Saints  know  how 
the  poor  young  lad  sped  in  all  the  bloody  work 
they  have  had.  For  my  part,  I  felt  not  bound  to 
hold  out  the  castle  against  my  old  lord's  side, 
when  there  was  no  saving  it  for  you,  so  I  put  what 


XX  A  BLIGHT  ON  THE  WHITE  ROSE  209 

belonged  to  me  together,  and  took  poor  old  Roan, 
and  my  young  lady's  pony,  and  made  my  way 
hither,  no  one  letting  me.  I  doubt  me  much, 
lady,  that  there  is  little  hope  of  winning  back 
your  lands,  whatever  side  may  be  uppermost,  yet 
there  be  true  hearts  among  our  villeins,  who  say 
they  will  never  pay  dues  to  any  save  their  lord's 
daughter. ' 

'Then  I  am  landless  and  homeless,'  sighed 
Grisell. 

'The  greater  cause  that  you  should  make  your 
home  with  us,  lady, '  returned  Lambert  Groot ;  and 
he  went  on  to  lay  before  Ridley  the  state  of  the 
case,  and  his  own  plans.  House  and  business, 
possibly  a  seat  in  the  city  council,  were  waiting 
for  him  at  Bruges,  and  the  vessel  from  Ostend 
which  had  continually  brought  him  supplies  for 
his  traffic  was  daily  expected.  He  intended,  so 
soon  as  she  had  made  up  her  cargo  of  wool,  to 
return  in  her  to  his  native  country,  and  he  was 
urgent  that  the  Lady  Grisell  should  go  with  him, 
representing  that  all  the  changes  of  fortune  in  the 
convulsed  kingdom  of  England  were  sure  to  be 
quickly  known  there,  and  that  she  was  as  near  the 
centre  of  action  in  Flanders  as  in  Durham,  be- 
sides that  she  would  be  out  of  reach  of  any  ene- 
mies who  might  disbelieve  the  hare  transformation. 


210  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

After  learning  the  fate  of  her  castle,  Grisell  much 
inclined  to  the  proposal  which  kept  her  with  those 
whom  she  had  learnt  to  trust  and  love,  and  she 
knew  that  she  need  be  no  burthen  to  them,  since 
she  had  profitable  skill  in  their  own  craft,  and 
besides  she  had  her  jewels.  Ridley,  moreover, 
gave  her  hopes  of  a  certain  portion  of  her  dues  on 
the  herring-boats  and  the  wool. 

'Will  not  you  come  with  the  lady,  sir?'  asked 
Lambert. 

'Oh,  come!  '  cried  Grisell. 

'Nay,  a  squire  of  dames  hath  scarce  been  heard 
of  in  a  Poticar's  shop, '  said  Ridley,  and  there  was 
an  irresistible  laugh  at  the  rugged  old  gentleman 
so  terming  himself;  but  as  Lambert  and  Grisell 
were  both  about  to  speak  he  went  on,  'I  can  serve 
her  better  elsewhere.  I  am  going  first  to  my 
home  at  Willimoteswick.  I  have  not  seen  it  these 
forty  year,  and  whether  my  brother  or  my  nephew 
make  me  welcome  or  no,  I  shall  have  seen  the  old 
moors  and  mosses.  Then  methought  I  w^ould  come 
hither,  or  to  some  of  the  towns  ?.bout,  and  see  how 
it  fares  with  the  old  Tower  and  the  folk ;  and  if 
they  be  as  good  as  their  word,  and  keep  their  dues 
for  my  lady,  I  could  gather  them,  and  take  or 
bring  them  to  her,  with  any  other  matter  which 
might  concern  her  nearly. ' 


XX  A  BLIGHT  ON  THE   WHITE   ROSE  211 

This  was  thoroughly  approved  by  Grisell's  little 
council,  and  Lambert  undertook  to  make  known 
to  the  good  esquire  the  best  means  of  communica- 
tion, whether  in  person,  or  by  the  transmission  of 
payments,  since  all  the  eastern  ports  of  England 
had  connections  with  Dutch  and  Flemish  traffic, 
which  made  the  payment  of  monies  possible. 

Grisell  meantime  was  asking  for  Thora.  Her 
uncle,  Ridley  said,  had  come  up,  laid  hands  on 
her,  and  soundly  scourged  her  for  her  foul  prac- 
tices. He  had  dragged  her  home,  and  when  Ralph 
Hart  had  come  after  her,  had  threatened  him  with 
a  quarter-staff,  called  out  a  mob  of  fishermen,  and 
finally  had  brought  him  to  Sir  Lucas,  who  married 
them  willy-nilly.  He  was  the  runaway  son  of 
a  currier  in  York,  and  had  taken  her  en  croupe^ 
and  ridden  off  to  his  parents  at  the  sign  of  the 
Hart,  to  bespeak  their  favour. 

Grisell  grieved  deeply  over  Thora's  ingratitude 
to  her,  and  the  two  elder  men  foreboded  no  favour- 
able reception  for  the  pair,  and  hoped  that  Thora 
would  sup  sorrow. 

Ridley  spent  the  night  at  the  sign  of  the  Green 
Serpent,  and  before  he  set  out  for  Willimotes wick, 
he  confided  to  Master  Groot  a  bag  containing  a 
silver  cup  or  two,  and  a  variety  of  coins,  mostly 
French.     They  were,  he  said,  spoils  of  his  wars 


212  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap,  xx 

under  King  Harry  the  Fifth  and  the  two  Lord 
Salisburys,  which  he  had  never  had  occasion  to 
spend,  and  he  desired  that  they  might  be  laid  out 
on  the  Lady  Grisell  in  case  of  need,  leaving  her 
to  think  they  were  the  dues  from  her  faithful  ten- 
antry. To  the  Hausvrow  Clemence  it  was  a  great 
grief  to  leave  the  peaceful  home  of  her  married 
life,  and  go  among  kindred  who  had  shown  their 
scorn  in  neglect  and  cold  looks;  but  she  kept  a 
cheerful  face  for  her  husband,  and  only  shed  tears 
over  the  budding  roses  and  other  plants  she  had 
to  leave ;  and  she  made  her  guest  understand  how 
great  a  comfort  and  solace  was  her  company. 


CHAPTER   XXI 

THE   WOUNDED   KNIGHT 

Belted  Will  Howard  is  marching  here, 
And  hot  Lord  Dacre  with  many  a  spear. 

Scott,  The  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel. 

'Master  Geoot,  a  word  with  you.'  A  lay 
brother  in  the  coarse, .  dark  robe  of  St.  Benedict 
was  standing  in  the  booth  of  the  Green  Serpent. 

Groot  knew  him  for  Brother  Christopher  of 
Monks  Wearmouth,  and  touched  his  brow  in 
recognition. 

'Have  you  here  any  balsam  fit  for  a  plaguey  shot 
with  an  arquebuss,  the  like  of  which  our  poor 
peaceful  house  never  looked  to  harbour  ?  ' 

'For  whom  is  it  needed,  good  brother? ' 

'Best  not  ask,'  said  Brother  Christopher,  who 
was,  however,  an  inveterate  gossip,  and  went  on 
in  reply  to  Lambert's  question  as  to  the  place  of 
the  wound.  'In  the  shoulder  is  the  worst,  the 
bullet  wound  where  the  Brother  Infirmarer  has 
poured  in  hot  oil.  St.  Bede!  How  the  poor 
knight  howled,  though  he  tried  to  stop  it,  and 

213 


214  GKISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

brought  it  down  to  moaning.  His  leg  is  broken 
beside,  but  we  could  deal  with  that.  His  horse 
went  down  with  him,  you  see,  when  he  was  over- 
taken and  shot  down  by  the  Gilsland  folk. ' 

'The  Gilsland  folk!' 

'Even  so,  poor  lad;  and  he  was  only  on  his  way 
to  see  after  his  own,  or  his  wife's,  since  all  the 
Whitburn  sons  are  at  an  end,  and  the  ToAver  gone 
to  the  spindle  side.  They  say,  too,  that  the  dam- 
sel he  wedded  perforce  was  given  to  magic,  and 
fled  in  form  of  a  hare.  But  be  that  as  it  will, 
young  Copeland  —  St.  Bede,  pardon  me !  What 
have  I  let  out  ?  ' 

'  Reck  not  of  that,  brother.  The  tale  is  all  over 
the  town.     How  of  Copeland  ?  ' 

'As  I  said  even  now,  he  was  on  his  way  to  the 
Tower,  when  the  Dacres  —  Will  and  Harry  —  fell 
on  him,  and  left  him  for  dead;  but  by  the  Saints' 
good  providence,  his  squire  and  groom  put  him 
on  a  horse,  and  brought  him  to  our  Abbey  at 
night,  knowing  that  he  is  kin  to  our  Sub-Prior. 
And  there  he  lies,  whether  for  life  or  death  only 
Heaven  knows,  but  for  death  it  will  be  if  only 
King  Edward  gets  a  scent  of  him ;  so  hold  your 
peace,  Master  Groats,  as  to  who  it  be,  as  you  live, 
or  as  you  would  not  have  his  blood  on  you. ' 

'Master   Groats '    promised  silence,    and   gave 


XXI  THE   WOUNDED   KNIGHT  215 

numerous  directions  as  to  the  application  of  his 
medicaments,  and  Brother-  Kit  took  his  leave, 
reiterating  assurances  that  Sir  Leonard's  life  de- 
pended on  his  secrecy. 

Whatever  was  said  in  the  booth  was  plainly 
audible  in  the  inner  room.  Grisell  and  Clemence 
were  packing  linen,  and  the  little  shutter  of  the 
wooden  partition  was  open.  Thus  Lambert  found 
Grisell  standing  with  clasped  hands,  and  a  face  of 
intense  attention  and  suspense. 

'You  have  heard,  lady,'  he  said. 

'Oh,  yea,  yea!     Alas,  poor  Leonard!  '  she  cried. 

'  The  Saints  grant  him  recovery. ' 

'Methought  you  would  be  glad  to  hear  you  were 
like  to  be  free  from  such  a  yoke.  Were  you  rid 
of  him,  you,  of  a  Yorkist  house,  might  win  back 
your  lands,  above  all,  since,  as  you  once  told  me, 
you  were  a  playmate  of  the  King's  sister.' 

'Ah !  dear  master,  speak  not  so !  Think  of  him ! 
treacherously  wounded,  and  lying  moaning.  That 
gruesome  oil !  Oh !  my  poor  Leonard !  '  and  she 
burst  into  tears.  'So  fair,  and  comely,  and  young, 
thus  stricken  down ! ' 

'Bah!'  exclaimed  Lambert.  '  Such  are  women ! 
One  would  think  she  loved  him,  who  flouted  her! ' 

'I  cannot  brook  the  thought  of  his  lying  there 
in  sore  pain  and  dolour,  he  who  has  had  so  sad  a 
life,  baulked  of  his  true  love. ' 


216  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

Master  Lambert  could  only  hold  up  his  hands  at 
the  perversity  of  womankind,  and  declare  to  his 
Clemence  that  he  verily  believed  that  had  the 
knight  been  a  true  and  devoted  Tristram  himself, 
ever  at  her  feet,  the  lady  could  not  have  been  so 
sore  troubled. 

The  next  day  brought  Brother  Kit  back  with  an 
earnest  request  from  the  Infirmarer  and  the  Sub- 
Prior  that  'Master  Groats  '  would  come  to  the 
monastery,  and  give  them  the  benefit  of  his  advice 
on  the  wounds  and  the  fever  which  was  setting 
in,  since  gun-shot  wounds  were  beyond  the  scope 
of  the  monastic  surgery. 

To  refuse  would  not  have  been  possible,  even 
without  the  earnest  entreaty  of  Grisell ;  and  Lam- 
bert, who  had  that  medical  instinct  which  no 
training  can  supply,  went  on  his  way  with  the  lay 
brother. 

He  came  back  after  many  hours,  sorely  per- 
turbed by  the  request  that  had  been  made  to  him. 
Sir  Leonard,  he  said,  was  indeed  sick  nigh  unto 
death,  grievously  hurt,  and  distraught  by  the 
fever,  or  it  might  be  by  the  blow  on  his  head  in 
the  fall  with  his  horse,  which  seemed  to  have 
kicked  him;  but  there  was  no  reason  that  with 
good  guidance  and  rest  he  should  not  recover. 
But,  on  the  other  hand.  King  Edward  was  known 


XXI  THE   WOUNDED   KNIGHT  217 

to  be  on  his  progress  to  Durham,  and  he  was  un- 
derstood to  be  especially  virulent  against  Sir 
Leonard  Copeland,  under  the  impression  that  the 
young  knight  had  assisted  in  Clifford's  slaughter 
of  his  brother  Edmund  of  Rutland.  It  was  true 
that  a  monastery  was  a  sanctuary,  but  if  all  that 
was  reported  of  Edward  Plantagenet  were  true, 
he  might,  if  he  tracked  Copeland  to  the  Abbey, 
insist  on  his  being  yielded  up,  or  might  make 
Abbot  and  monks  suffer  severely  for  the  protection 
given  to  his  enemy ;  and  there  was  much  fear  that 
the  Dacres  might  be  on  the  scent.  The  Abbot 
and  Father  Copeland  were  anxious  to  be  able  to 
answer  that  Sir  Leonard  was  not  within  their 
precincts,  and,  having  heard  that  Master  Groats 
was  about  to  sail  for  Flanders,  the  Sub-Prior  made 
the  entreaty  that  his  nephew  might  thus  be  con- 
veyed to  the  Low  Countries,  where  the  fugitives 
of  each  party  in  turn  found  a  refuge.  Father 
Copeland  promised  to  be  at  charges,  and,  in  truth, 
the  scheme  was  the  best  hope  for  Leonard's  chances 
of  life.  Master  Groot  had  hesitated,  seeing  vari- 
ous difficulties  in  the  way  of  such  a  charge,  and 
being  by  no  means  disposed  towards  Lad}^  Grisell's 
unwilling  husband,  as  such,  though  in  a  profes- 
sional capacity  he  was  interested  in  his  treatment 
of  his  patient,  and  was  likewise  touched  by  the 


218  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

good  mien  of  the  fine,  handsome,  straight-limbed 
young  man,  who  was  lying  unconscious  on  his 
pallet  in  a  narrow  cell. 

He  had  replied  that  he  would  answer  the  next 
day,  when  he  had  consulted  his  wife  and  the  ship- 
master, whose  consent  was  needful ;  and  there  was 
of  course  another,  whom  he  did  not  mention. 

As  he  told  all  the  colour  rose  in  Grisell's  face, 
rosy  on  one  side,  purple,  alas,  on  the  other.  'O 
master,  good  master,  you  will,  you  will! ' 

'Is  it  your  pleasure,  then,  mistress?  I  should 
have  held  that  the  kindness  to  you  would  be  to 
rid  you  of  him.' 

'No,  no,  no !  You  are  mocking  me !  You  know 
too  well  what  I  think !  Is  not  this  my  best  hope 
of  making  him  know  me,  and  becoming  his  true 
and  —  and ' 

A  sob  cut  her  short,  but  she  cried,  'I  will  be 
at  all  the  pains  and  all  the  cost,  if  only  you  will 
consent,  dear  Master  Lambert,  good  Master  Groot. ' 

'Ah,  would  I  knew  what  is  well  for  her! '  said 
Lambert,  turning  to  his  wife,  and  making  rapid 
signs  with  face  and  fingers  in  their  mutual  lan- 
guage, but  Grisell  burst  in  — 

'Good  for  her,'  cried  she.  'Can  it  be  good  for 
a  wife  to  leave  her  husband  to  be  slain  by  the 
cruel  men  of  York  and  Warwick,  him  who  strove 


XXI  THE   WOUNDED   KNIGHT  219 

to  save  the  young  Lord  Edmund?  Master,  you 
Avill  suffer  no  such  foul  wrong.  O  master,  if  you 
did,  I  would  stay  behind,  in  some  poor  hovel  on 
the  shore,  where  none  would  track  him,  and  tend 
him  there.     I  will !     I  vow  it  to  St.  Mary. ' 

'Hush,  hush,  lady!  Cease  this  strange  passion. 
You  could  not  be  more  moved  if  he  were  the  ten- 
derest  spouse  who  ever  breathed. ' 

'But  you  will  have  pity,  sir.  You  will  aid  us. 
You  will  save  us.     Give  him  the  chance  for  life.' 

'What  say  you,  housewife?'  said  Groot,  turn- 
ing to  the  silent  Clemence,  whom  his  signs  and 
their  looks  had  made  to  perceive  the  point  at 
issue.  Her  reply  was  to  seize  Grisell's  two 
hands,  kiss  them  fervently,  clasp  both  together, 
and  utter  in  her  deaf  voice  tw^o  Flemish  words, 
'  G-oot  Vroiv. '  Grisell  eagerly  embraced  her  in 
tears. 

'We  have  still  to  see  what  Skipper  Vrowst  says. 
He  may  not  choose  to  meddle  with  English  out- 
laws. ' 

'If  you  cannot  win  him  to  take  my  knight,  he 
will  not  take  me, '  said  Grisell. 

There  was  no  more  to  be  said  except  something 
about  the  waywardness  of  the  affections  of  women 
and  dogs ;  but  Master  Groot  was  not  ill -pleased  at 
the  bottom  that  both  the  females  of  the  household 


220  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

took  part  against  him,  and  they  had  a  merry  sup- 
per that  night,  amid  the  chests  in  which  their 
domestic  apparatus  and  stock-in-trade  were  packed, 
with  the  dried  lizard,  who  passed  for  a  crocodile, 
sitting  on  the  settle  as  if  he  were  one  of  the  com- 
pany. Grisell's  spirits  rose  with  an  undefined 
hope  that,  like  Sir  Gawaine's  bride,  or  her  own 
namesake,  Griselda  the  patient,  she  should  at  last 
win  her  lord's  love ;  and,  deprived  as  she  was  of 
all  her  own  relatives,  there  arose  strongly  within 
her  the  affection  that  ten  long  years  ago  had  made 
her  haunt  the  footsteps  of  the  boy  at  Amesbury 
Manor. 

Groot  was  made  to  promise  to  say  not  a  word 
of  her  presence  in  his  family.  He  was  out  all 
day,  while  Clemence  worked  hard  at  her  demen- 
agement,  and  only  with  scruples  accepted  the 
assistance  of  her  guest,  who  was  glad  to  work 
away  her  anxiety  in  the  folding  of  curtains  and 
stuffing  of  mails. 

At  last  Lambert  returned,  having  been  back- 
wards and  forwards  many  times  between  the  Vrow 
Gudule  and  the  Abbey,  for  Skipper  Vrowst  drove 
a  hard  bargain,  and  made  the  most  of  the  incon- 
venience and  danger  of  getting  into  ill  odour  with 
the  authorities;  and,  however  anxious  Father 
Copeland  might  be  to  save  his  nephew,   Abbot 


XXI  THE   WOUNDED   KNIGHT  221 

and  bursar  demurred  at  gratifying  extortion,  above 
all  when  the  King  might  at  any  time  be  squeezing 
them  for  contributions  hard  to  come  by. 

However,  it  had  been  finally  fixed  that  a  boat 
should  put  in  to  the  Abbey  steps  to  receive  the 
fleeces  of  the  sheep-shearing  of  the  home  grange, 
and  that,  rolled  in  one  of  these  fleeces,  the 
wounded  knight  should  be  brought  on  board  the 
Vrow  Grudule^  where  Groot  and  the  women  would 
await  him,  their  freight  being  already  embarked, 
and  all  ready  to  weigh  anchor. 

The  chief  danger  was  in  a  King's  officer  coming 
on  board  to  weigh  the  fleeces,  and  obtaining  the 
toll  on  them.  But  Sunderland  either  had  no 
King,  or  had  two  just  at  that  time,  and  Father 
Copeland  handed  Master  Groot  a  sum  which 
might  bribe  one  or  both ;  while  it  was  to  the  in- 
terest of  the  captain  to  make  off  without  being 
overhauled  by  either. 


CHAPTER   XXII 

THE   CITY   OF   BRIDGES 

So  for  long  hours  sat  Enid  by  her  lord, 
There  in  the  naked  hall,  propping  his  head, 
And  chafing  his  pale  hands,  and  calling  to  him. 
And  at  the  last  he  waken'd  from  his  swoon. 

Tennyson,  Enid. 

The  transit  was  happily  effected,  and  closely  hid- 
den in  wool,  Leonard  Copeland  was  lifted  out  the 
boat,  more  than  half  unconscious,  and  afterwards 
transferred  to  the  vessel,  and  placed  in  wrappings 
as  softly  and  securely  as  Grisell  and  Clemence 
could  arrange  before  King  Edward's  men  came  to 
exact  their  poundage  on  the  freight,  but  happily 
did  not  concern  themselves  about  the  sick  man. 

He  might  almost  be  congratulated  on  his  semi- 
insensibility,  for  though  he  suffered,  he  would  not 
retain  the  recollection  of  his  suffering,  and  the 
voyage  was  very  miserable  to  every  one,  though 
the  weather  was  far  from  unfavourable,  as  the 
captain  declared.  Grisell  indeed  was  so  entirely 
taken  up  with  ministering  to  her  knight  that  she 

222 


CHAP.  XXII  THE  CITY  OF  BRIDGES  223 

seemed  impervious  to  sickness  or  discomfort.  It 
was  a  great  relief  to  enter  on  the  smooth  waters 
of  the  great  canal  from  Ostend,  and  Lambert  stood 
on  the  deck  recognising  old  landmarks,  and  point- 
ing them  out  with  the  joy  of  homecoming  to  Clem- 
ence,  who  perhaps  felt  less  delight,  since  the  joys 
of  her  life  had  only  begun  when  she  turned  her 
back  on  her  unkind  kinsfolk. 

Nor  did  her  face  light  up  as  his  did  while  he 
pointed  out  to  Grisell  the  beauteous  belfry,  rising 
on  high  above  the  many-peaked  gables,  though 
she  did  smile  when  a  long-billed,  long-legged 
stork  flapped  his  wings  overhead,  and  her  husband 
signed  that  it  was  in  greeting.  The  greeting  that 
delighted  him  she  could  not  hear,  the  sweet  chimes 
from  that  same  tower,  which  floated  down  the 
stream,  when  he  doffed  his  cap,  crossed  himself, 
and  clasped  his  hands  in  devout  thanksgiving. 

It  was  a  wonderful  scene  of  bustle ;  where  ves- 
sels of  all  kinds  thronged  together  were  drawn  up 
to  the  wharf,  the  beautiful  tall  painted  ships 
of  Venice  and  Genoa  pre-eminent  among  the 
stoutly-built  Netherlanders  and  the  English  trad- 
ers. Shouts  in  all  languages  were  heard,  and 
Grisell  looked  round  in  wonder  and  bewilderment 
as  to  how  the  helpless  and  precious  charge  on  the 
deck  was  ever  to  be  safely  landed. 


224  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

Lambert,  however,  was  truly  at  home  and  equal 
to  the  occasion.  He  secured  some  of  the  men  who 
came  round  the  vessel  in  barges  clamouring  for  em- 
ployment, and  —  Grisell  scarce  knew  how  —  Leon- 
ard on  his  bed  was  lifted  down,  and  laid  in  the 
bottom  of  the  barge.  The  big  bundles  and  cases 
were  committed  to  the  care  of  another  barge,  tO' 
follow  close  after  theirs,  and  on  they  went  under, 
one  after  another,  the  numerous  high,  peaked  bridges 
to  which  Bruges  owes  its  name,  while  tall  sharp- 
gabled  houses,  walls,  or  sometimes  pleasant  green 
gardens,  bounded  the  margins,  with  a  narrow  foot- 
way between.  The  houses  had  often  pavement 
leading  by  stone  steps  to  the  river,  and  stone  steps 
up  to  the  door,  which  was  under  the  deep  project- 
ing eaves  running  along  the  front  of  the  house  —  a 
stoop,  as  the  Low  Countries  called  it.  At  one  of 
these  —  not  one  of  the  largest  or  handsomest,  but 
far  superior  to  the  old  home  at  Sunderland  —  hung 
the  large  handsome  painted  and  gilded  sign  of  the 
same  serpent  which  Grisell  had  learnt  to  know  so 
well,  and  here  the  barge  hove  to,  while  two  ser- 
vants, the  man  in  a  brown  belted  jerkin,  the  old 
woman  in  a  narrow,  tight,  white  hood,  came  out 
on  the  steps  with  outstretched  hands. 

'Mein    Herr,    my  dear  Master  Lambert.      Oh, 
joy!     Greet  thee  well.     Thanks  to  our  Lady  that 


XXII  THE   CITY  OF  BRIDGES  226 

I  have  lived  to  see  this  day,'  was  the  old  woman's 
cry. 

'Greet  thee  well,  dear  old  Mother  Abra.  Greet 
thee,  trusty  Anton.  You  had  my  message  ?  Have 
you  a  bed  and  chamber  ready  for  this  gentleman  ?  ' 

Such  was  Lambert's  hasty  though  still  cordial 
greeting,  as  he  gave  his  hand  to  the  man-servant, 
his  cheek  to  his  old  nurse,  who  was  mother  to 
Anton.  Clemence  in  her  gentle  dumb  show 
shared  the  welcome,  and  directed  as  Leonard  was 
carried  up  an  outside  stone  stair  to  a  guest-cham- 
ber, and  deposited  in  a^ stately  bed  with  fresh,  cool, 
lace-bordered,  lavender-scented  sheets,  and  Grisell 
put  between  his  lips  a  spoonful  of  the  cordial  with 
which  Lambert  had  supplied  her. 

More  distinctly  than  before  he  murmured, 
'Thanks,  sweet  Eleanor.' 

The  move  in  the  open  air  had  partly  revived 
him,  partly  made  him  feverish,  and  he  continued 
to  murmur  complacently  his  thanks  to  Eleanor  for 
'tending  her  wounded  knight,'  little  knowing 
whom  he  wounded  by  his  thanks. 

On  one  point  this  decided  Grisell.  She  looked 
up  at  Lambert,  and  when  he  used  her  title  of 
'Lady,'  in  begging  her  to  leave  old  Mother  Abra 
in  charge  and  to  come  down  to  supper,  she  made  a 
gesture  of  silence,  and  as  she  came  down  the  broad 


226  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

stair  —  a  refinement  scarce  known  in  England  — 
she  entreated  him  to  let  her  be  Grisell  still. 

'Unless  he  accept  me  as  his  wife  I  will  never 
bear  his  name, '  she  said. 

'Nay,  madame,  you  are  Lsidy  of  Whitburn  by 
right.' 

'By  right,  may  be,  but  not  in  fact,  nor  could  I 
be  known  as  mine  own  self  without  cumbering 
him  with  my  claims.  No,  let  me  alone  to  be 
Grisell  as  ever  before,  an  English  orphan,  bower- 
woman  to  Vrow  Clemence  if  she  will  have  me.' 

Clemence  would  not  consent  to  treat  her  as 
bower-woman,  and  it  was  agreed  that  she  should 
remain  as  one  of  the  many  orphans  made  by  the 
civil  war  in  England,  without  precise  definition 
of  her  rank,  and  be  only  called  by  her  Christian 
name.  She  was  astonished  at  the  status  of  Mas- 
ter Groot,  the  size  and  furniture  of  the  house,  and 
the  servants  who  awaited  him ;  all  so  unlike  his 
little  English  establishment,  for  the  refinements 
and  even  luxuries  were  not  only  far  beyond  those 
of  Whitburn,  but  almost  beyond  all  that  she  had 
seen  even  in  the  households  of  the  Earls  of  Salis- 
bury and  Warwick.  He  had  indeed  been  bred  to 
all  this,  for  the  burghers  of  Bruges  were  some  of 
the  most  prosperous  of  all  the  rich  citizens  of 
Flanders  in  the  golden  days  of  the  Dukes  of  Bur- 


xxii  THE   CITY  OF  BRIDGES  227 

gundy ;  and  he  had  left  it  all  for  the  sake  of  his 
Clemence,  but  without  forfeiting  his  place  in  his 
Guild,  or  his  right  to  his  inheritance. 

He  was,  however,  far  from  being  a  rich  man, 
on  a  level  with  the  great  merchants,  though  he 
had  succeeded  to  a  modest,  not  unprosperous  trade 
in  spices,  drugs,  condiments  and  other  delicacies. 

He  fetched  a  skilful  Jewish  physician  to  visit 
Sir  Leonard  Copeland,  but  there  was  no  great 
difference  in  the  young  man's  condition  for  many 
days.  Grisell  nursed  him  indefatigably,  sitting 
by  him  so  as  to  hear  the  sweet  bells  chime  again 
and  again,  and  the  storks  clatter  on  the  roofs  at 
sunrise. 

Still,  whenever  her  hand  brought  him  some 
relief,  or  she  held  drink  to  his  lips,  his  words  and 
thanks  were  for  Eleanor,  and  more  and  more  did 
the  sense  sink  down  upon  her  like  lead  that  she 
must  give  him  up  to  Eleanor. 

Yes,  it  was  like  lead,  for,  as  she  watched  his 
face  on  the  pillow  her  love  went  out  to  him.  It 
might  have  done  so  even  had  he  been  disfigured 
like  herself;  but  his  was  a  beautiful  countenance 
of  noble  outlines,  and  she  felt  a  certain  pride  in 
it  as  hers,  while  she  longed  to  see  it  light  up  with 
reason,  and  glow  once  more  with  health.  Then 
she  thought  she  could  rejoice,  even  if  there  were 
no  look  of  love  for  her. 


228  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

The  eyes  did  turn  towards  her  again  with  the 
mind  looking  out  of  them,  and  he  knew  her  for 
the  nurse  on  whom  he  depended  for  comfort  and 
relief.  He  thanked  her  courteously,  so  that  she 
felt  a  thrill  of  pleasure  every  time.  He  even 
learnt  her  name  of  Grisell,  and  once  he  asked 
whether  she  were  not  English,  to  which  she  re- 
plied simply  that  she  was,  and  on  a  further  ques- 
tion she  said  that  she  had  been  at  Sunderland  with 
Master  Groot,  and  that  she  had  lost  her  home  in 
the  course  of  the  wars. 

There  for  some  time  it  rested  —  rested  at  least 
with  the  knight.  But  with  the  lady  there  was 
far  from  rest,  for  every  hour  she  was  watching  for 
some  favourable  token  which  might  draw  them 
nearer,  and  give  opportunity  for  making  herself 
known.  Nearer  they  certainly  drew,  for  he  often 
smiled  at  her.  He  liked  her  to  wait  on  him,  and 
to  beguile  the  weariness  of  his  recovery  by  sing- 
ing to  him,  telling  some  of  her  store  of  tales,  or 
reading  to  him,  for  books  were  more  plentiful  at 
Bruges  than  at  Sunderland,  and  there  were  even 
whispers  of  a  wonderful  mode  of  multiplying  them 
far  more  quickly  than  by  the  scrivener's  hand. 

How  her  heart  beat  every  time  she  thus  minis- 
tered to  him,  or  heard  his  voice  call  to  her,  but  it 
was  all,  as  she  could  plainly  see,  just  as  he  would 


XXII  THE   CITY   OF  BRIDGES  229 

have  spoken  to  Clemence,  if  she  could  have  heard 
him,  and  he  evidently  thought  her  likewise  of 
burgher  quality,  and  much  of  the  same  age  as  the 
Vrow  Groot.  Indeed,  the  long  toil  and  wear  of 
the  past  months  had  made  her  thin  and  haggard, 
and  the  traces  of  her  disaster  were  all  the  more 
apparent,  so  that  no  one  would  have  guessed  her 
years  to  be  eighteen. 

She  had  taken  her  wedding-ring  from  her  fin- 
ger, and  wore  it  on  a  chain,  within  her  kirtle,  so 
as  to  excite  no  inquiry.  But  many  a  night,  ere 
she  lay  down,  she  looked  at  it,  and  even  kissed 
it,  as  she  asked  herself  whether  her  knight  would 
ever  bid  her  wear  it.  Until  he  did  so  her  finger 
should  never  again  be  encircled  by  it. 

Meantime  she  scarcely  ever  went  beyond  the 
nearest  church  and  the  garden,  which  amply  com- 
pensated Clemence  for  that  which  she  had  left  at 
Sunderland.  Indeed,  that  had  been  as  close  an 
imitation  of  this  one  as  Lambert  could  contrive  in 
a  colder  climate  with  smaller  means.  Here  was 
a  fountain  trellised  over  by  a  framework  rich  in 
roses  and  our  lady's  bower;  here  were  pinks,  gilly- 
flowers, pansies,  lavender,  and  the  new  snow- 
ball shrub  recently  produced  at  Gueldres,  and  a 
little  bush  shown  with  great  pride  by  Anton,  the 
snow-white  rose  grown  in  King  Rene's  garden  of 
Provence. 


230  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap,  xxii 

These  served  as  borders  to  the  green  walks 
dividing  the  beds  of  useful  vegetables  and  fruits 
and  aromatic  herbs  which  the  Groots  had  long 
been  in  the  habit  of  collecting  from  all  parts  and 
experimenting  on.  Much  did  Lambert  rejoice  to 
find  himself  among  the  familiar  plants  he  had  often 
needed  and  could  not  procure  in  England,  and  for 
some  of  which  he  had  a  real  individual  love.  The 
big  improved  distillery  and  all  the  jars  and  bottles 
of  his  youth  were  a  joy  to  him,  almost  as  much  as 
the  old  friends  who  accepted  him  again  after  a 
long  'wander  year.' 

Clemence  had  her  place  too,  but  she  shrank  from 
the  society  she  could  not  share,  and  while  most  of 
the  burghers'  wives  spent  the  summer  evening 
sitting  spinning  or  knitting  on  the  steps  of  the 
stoop,  conversing  with  their  gossips,  she  preferred 
to  take  her  distaff  or  needle  among  the  roses, 
sometimes  tending  them,  sometimes  beguiling 
Grisell  to  come  and  take  the  air  in  company  with 
her,  for  they  understood  one  another's  mute  lan- 
guage ;  and  when  Lambert  Groot  was  with  his  old 
friends  they  sufficed  for  one  another  —  so  far  as 
Grisell's  anxious  heart  could  find  solace,  and  per- 
haps in  none  so  much  as  the  gentle  matron  who 
could  caress  but  could  not  talk. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  CANKERED   OAK  GALL 

That  Walter  was  no  fool,  though  that  him  list 
To  change  his  wif ,  for  it  was  for  the  best ; 
For  she  is  fairer,  so  they  demen  all. 
Than  his  Griselde,  and  more  tendre  of  age. 

Chaucer,  The  Gierke's  Tale. 

It  was  on  an  early  autumn  evening  when  the 
belfry  stood  out  beautiful  against  the  sunset  sky, 
and  the  storks  with  their  young  fledglings  were 
wheeling  homewards  to  their  nest  on  the  roof,  that 
Leonard  was  lying  on  the  deep  oriel  window  of 
the  guest-chamber,  and  Grisell  sat  opposite  to  him 
with  a  lace  pillow  on  her  lap,  weaving  after  the 
pattern  of  Wilton  for  a  Church  vestment. 

'The  storks  fly  home,'  he  said.  'I  marvel 
whether  we  have  still  a  home  in  England,  or  ever 
shall  have  one ! ' 

'I  heard  tell  that  the  new  King  of  France  is 
friendly  to  the  Queen  and  her  son, '  said  Grisell. 

'He  is  near  of  kin  to  them,  but  he  must  keep 
terms  with  this  old  Duke  who  sheltered  him  so 

231 


232  GKISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

long.  Still,  when  he  is  firm  fixed  on  his  throne 
he  may  yet  bring  home  our  brave  young  Prince 
and  set  the  blessed  King  on  his  throne  once  more. ' 

'Ah!     You  love  the  King.' 

'  I  revere  him  as  a  saint,  and  feel  as  though  I 
drew  my  sword  in  a  holy  cause  when  I  fight  for 
him,'  said  Leonard,  raising  himself  with  glitter- 
ing eyes. 

'And  the  Queen?' 

'Queen  Margaret!  Ah!  by  my  troth  she  is  a 
dame  who  makes  swords  fly  out  of  their  scabbards 
b}^  her  brave  stirring  words  and  her  noble  mien. 
Her  bright  eyes  and  undaunted  courage  fire  each 
man's  heart  in  her  cause  till  there  is  nothing  he 
would  not  do  or  dare,  ay,  or  give  up  for  her,  and 
those  she  loves  better  than  herself,  her  husband, 
and  her  son.' 

'You  have  done  so,'  faltered  Grisell. 

'Ah!  have  I  not?  Mistress,  I  would  that  you 
bore  any  other  name.  You  mind  me  of  the  bane 
and  grief  of  my  life. ' 

'Verily?'  uttered  Grisell  with  some  difficulty. 

'Yea!  Tell  me,  mistress,  have  I  ever,  when  my 
brains  were  astray,  uttered  any  name  ? ' 

'By  times,  even  so! '  she  confessed. 

'I  thought  so!  I  deemed  at  times  that  she  was 
here!  I  have  never  told  you  of  the  deed  that 
marred  my  life.' 


XXIII  THE   CANKERED   OAK   GALL  233 

'Nay,'  she  said,  letting  her  bobbins  fall  though 
she  drooped  her  head,  not  daring  to  look  him  in 
the  face. 

'I  was  a  mere  lad,  a  page  in  the  Earl  of  Salis- 
bury's house.  A  good  man  was  he,  but  the  jeal- 
ousies and  hatreds  of  the  nobles  had  begun  long 
ago,  and  the  good  King  hoped,  as  he  ever  hoped, 
to  compose  them.  So  he  brought  about  a  compact 
between  my  father  and  the  Dacre  of  Whitburn  for 
a  marriage  between  their  children,  and  caused  us 
both  to  be  bred  up  in  the  Lad}^  of  Salisbury's 
household,  meaning,  I  trow,  that  we  should  enter 
into  solemn  contract  when  we  were  of  less  tender 
age;  but  there  never  was  betrothal;  and  before 
any  fit  time  for  it  had  come,  I  had  the  mishap  to 
have  the  maid  close  to  me  —  she  was  ever  beset- 
ting and  running  after  me  —  when  by  some  prank, 
unhappily  of  mine,  a  barrel  of  gunpowder  blew 
up  and  wellnigh  tore  her  to  pieces.  My  father 
came,  and  her  mother,  an  unnurtured,  uncouth 
woman,  who  would  have  forced  me  to  wed  her  on 
the  spot,  but  my  father  would  not  hear  of  it,  more 
especially  as  there  were  then  two  male  heirs,  so 
that  I  should  not  have  gained  her  grim  old  Tower 
and  bare  moorlands.  All  held  that  I  was  not 
bound  to  her;  the  Queen  herself  owned  it,  and 
that  whatever  the  damsel  might  be,  the  mother 


234  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

was  a  mere  northern  she-bear,  whose  child  none 
would  wish  to  wed,  and  of  the  White  Rose  besides. 
So  the  King  had  me  to  his  school  at  Eton,  and 
then  I  was  a  squire  of  my  Lord  of  Somerset,  and 
there  I  saw  my  fairest  Eleanor  Audley.  The 
Queen  and  the  Duke  of  Somerset  —  rest  his  soul 
—  would  have  had  us  wedded.  On  the  love  day, 
when  all  walked  together  to  St.  Paul's,  and  the 
King  hoped  all  was  peace,  we  spoke  our  vows  to 
one  another  in  the  garden  of  Westminster.  She 
gave  me  this  rook,  I  gave  her  the  jewel  of  my  cap ; 
I  read  her  true  love  in  her  eyes,  like  our  limpid 
northern  brooks.  Oh!  she  was  fair,  fairer  than 
yonder  star  in  the  sunset,  but  her  father,  the  Lord 
Audley,  was  absent,  and  we  could  go  no  farther; 
and  therewith  came  the  Queen's  summons  to  her 
liegemen  to  come  and  arrest  Salisbury  at  Blore- 
heath.  There  never  was  rest  again,  as  you  know. 
My  father  was  slain  at  Northampton,  I  yielded  me 
to  young  Falconberg;  but  I  found  the  Yorkists 
had  set  headsmen  to  work  as  though  we  had  been 
traitors,  and  I  was  begging  for  a  priest  to  hear  my 
shrift,  when  who  should  come  into  the  foul, 
wretched  barn  where  we  lay  awaiting  the  rope, 
but  old  Dacre  of  Whitburn.  He  had  craved  me 
from  the  Duke  of  York,  it  seems,  and  gained  my 
life  on  what  condition  he  did  not  tell  me,  but  he 


XXIII  THE   CANKERED   OAK  GALL  235 

bound  my  feet  beneath  my  horse,  and  thus  bore 
me  out  of  the  camp  for  all  the  first  day.  Then, 
I  own  he  let  me  ride  as  became  a  knight,  on  my 
word  of  honour  not  to  escape;  but  much  did  I 
marvel  whether  it  were  revenge  or  ransom  that 
he  wanted ;  and  as  to  ransom,  all  our  gold  had  all 
been  riding  on  horseback  with  my  poor  father. 
What  he  had  devised  I  knew  not  nor  guessed  till 
late  at  night  we  were  at  his  rat-hole  of  a  Tower, 
where  I  looked  for  a  taste  of  the  dungeons ;  but  no 
such  thing.     The  choice  that  the  old  robber ' 

Grisell  could  not  repress  a  dissentient  murmur 
of  indignation. 

'Ah,  well,  you  are  from  Sunderland,  and  may 
know  better  of  him.  But  any  way  the  choice  he 
left  me  was  the  halter  that  dangled  from  the  roof 
and  his  grisly  daughter!  ' 

'Did  you  see  her?  '  Grisell  contrived  to  ask. 

'I  thank  the  Saints,  no.  To  hear  of  her  was 
enow.  They  say  she  has  a  face  like  a  cankered 
oak  gall  or  a  rotten  apple  lying  cracked  on  the 
ground  among  the  wasps.  Mayhap  though  you 
have  seen  her. ' 

Grisell  could  truly  say,  in  a  half-choked  voice, 
'Never  since  she  was  a  child,'  for  no  mirror  had 
come  in  her  wa}^  since  she  was  at  Warwick  House. 
She  was  upborne  by  the  thought  that  it  would  be 


236  GRISLY   GllISELL  chap. 

a  relief  to  him  not  to  see  anything  like  a  rotten 
apple.     He  went  on  — 

'My  first  answer  and  first  thought  was  rather 
death  —  and  of  my  word  to  my  Eleanor.  Ah !  you 
marvel  to  see  me  here  now.  I  felt  as  though  noth- 
ing would  make  me  a  recreant  to  her.  Her  sweet 
smile  and  shining  eyes  rose  up  before  me,  and  half 
the  night  I  dreamt  of  them,  and  knew  that  I  would 
rather  die  than  be  given  to  another  and  be  false  to 
them.  Ah!  but  you  will  deem  me  a  recreant. 
With  the  waking  hours  I  thought  of  my  King  and 
Queen.  My  elder  brother  died  with  Lord  Shrews- 
bury in  Gascony,  and  after  me  the  next  heir  is  a 
devoted  Yorkist  who  would  turn  my  castle,  the 
key  of  Cleveland,  against  the  Queen.  I  knew 
the  defeat  would  make  faithful  swords  more  than 
ever  needful  to  her,  and  that  it  was  my  bounden 
duty,  if  it  Avere  possible,  to  save  my  life,  my 
sword,  and  my  lands  for  her.  Mistress,  you  are 
a  good  woman.     Did  I  act  as  a  coward?  ' 

'You  offered  up  yourself,'  said  Grisell,  look- 
ing up. 

'So  it  was!  I  gave  my  consent,  on  condition 
that  I  should  be  free  at  once.  We  were  wedded 
in  the  gloom  —  ere  sunrise  —  a  thunderstorm  com- 
ing up,  which  so  darkened  the  church  that  if  she 
had  been  a  peerless  beauty,  fair  as  Cressid  herself, 


XXIII  THE   CANKERED   OAK   GALL  237 

I  could  not  have  seen  her,  and  even  had  she 
been  beauty  itself,  nought  can  to  me  be  such  as 
my  Eleanor.  So  I  was  free  to  gallop  off  through 
the  storm  for  Wearmouth  when  the  rite  was  over, 
and  none  pursued  me,  for  old  Whitburn  was  a 
man  of  his  word.  Mine  uncle  held  the  marriage 
as  nought,  but  next  I  made  for  the  Queen  at  Dur- 
ham, and,  if  aught  could  comfort  my  spirit,  it 
was  her  thanks,  and  assurances  that  it  would 
cost  nothing  but  the  dispensation  of  the  Pope  to 
set  me  free.  So  said  Dr.  Morton,  her  chaplain, 
one  of  the  most  learned  men  in  England.  I  told 
him  all,  and  he  declared  that  no  wedlock  was 
valid  without  the  heartfelt  consent  of  each  party. ' 

'Said  he  so?'  Poor  Grisell  could  not  repress 
the  inquir}^ 

'Yea,  and  that  though  no  actual  troth  had 
passed  between  me  and  Lord  Audley's  daughter, 
yet  that  the  vows  we  had  of  our  own  free  will  ex- 
changed would  be  quite  enough  to  annul  my  forced 
marriage. ' 

'Ah!' 

'You  think  it  evil  in  me,  the  more  that  it  was 
I  who  had  defaced  that  countenance.  I  thought 
of  that!  I  would  have  endowed  her  with  all  I 
had  if  she  would  set  me  free.  I  trusted  yet  so  to 
do,  when,  for  my  misfortune  as  well  as  hers,  the 


238  GEISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

day  of  Wakefield  cut  off  her  father  and  brother, 
and  a  groom  was  taken  who  was  on  his  way  to 
Sendal  with  tidings  of  the  other  brother's  death. 
Then,  what  do  the  Queen  and  Sir  Pierre  de  Brezd 
but  command  me  to  ride  off  instantly  to  claim 
Whitburn  Tower !  In  vain  did  1  refuse ;  in  vain  did 
I  plead  that  if  I  were  about  to  renounce  the  lady 
it  were  unknightly  to  seize  on  her  inheritance. 
They  would  not  hear  me.  They  said  it  would 
serve  as  a  door  to  England,  and  that  it  must  be 
secured  for  the  King,  or  the  Dacres  would  hold  it 
for  York.  They  bade  me  on  my  allegiance,  and 
commanded  me  to  take  it  in  King  Henry's  name, 
as  though  it  were  a  mere  stranger's  castle,  and 
gave  me  a  crew  of  hired  men-at-arms,  as  I  verily 
believe  to  watch  over  what  I  did.  But  ere  I 
started  I  made  a  vow  in  Dr.  Morton's  hands,  to 
take  it  only  for  the  King,  and  so  soon  as  the 
troubles  be  ended  to  restore  it  to  the  lady,  when 
our  marriage  is  dissolved.  As  it  fell  out,  I  never 
saw  the  lady.  Her  mother  lay  a-dying,  and  there 
was  no  summoning  her.  I  bade  them  show  her  all 
due  honour,  hoisted  my  pennon,  rode  on  to  my 
uncle  at  Wearmouth,  and  thence  to  mine  own 
lands,  whence  I  joined  the  Queen  on  her  way  to 
London.  As  you  well  know,  all  was  over  with 
our  cause  at  Towton  Moor ;  and  it  was  on  my  way 


xxiir  THE   CANKERED    OAK   GALL  239 

northward  after  the  deadly  fight  that  half  a  dozen 
of  the  men-at-arms  brought  me  tidings,  not  only 
that  the  Gilsland  Dacres  had,  as  had  been  feared, 
claimed  the  castle,  but  that  this  same  so-called  lady 
of  mine  had  been  shown  to  deal  in  sorcery  and 
magic.  They  sent  for  a  wise  man  from  Shields, 
but  she  found  by  her  arts  what  they  were  doing, 
fled,  and  was  slain  by  an  arquebuss  in  the  form  of 
a  hare ! ' 

'Do  you  believe  it  was  herself  in  sooth? '  asked 
Grisell. 

'Ah!  you  are  bred  by  Master  Lambert,  who, 
like  his  kind,  hath  little  faith  in  sorcery,  but 
verily,  old  women  do  change  into  hares.  All  have 
known  them.' 

'She  was  scarce  old,'  Grisell  trusted  herself  to 
say. 

'That  skills  not.  They  said  she  made  strange 
cures  by  no  rules  of  art.  Ay,  and  said  her  praj^ers 
backward,  and  had  unknown  books. ' 

'Did  your  squire  tell  this,  or  was  it  only  the 
men?' 

'My  squire!  Poor  Pierce,  I  never  saw  him. 
He  was  made  captive  by  a  White  Rose  party,  so 
far  as  I  could  hear,  and  St.  Peter  knows  where  he 
may  be.  But  look  you,  the  lady,  for  all  her  foul 
looks,  had  cast  her  spell  over  him,  and  held  him 


240  GRISLY   GlilSELL  chap. 

as  bound  and  entranced  as  by  a  true  love,  so  that 
he  was  ready  to  defend  her  beauty  —  her  beauty ! 
look  you !  —  against  all  the  world  in  the  lists.  He 
was  neither  to  have  nor  to  hold  if  any  man  durst 
utter  a  word  against  her !  And  it  was  the  same 
with  her  tirewoman  and  her  own  old  squire. ' 

'Then,  sir,  you  deem  that  in  slaying  the  hare, 
the  arquebusier  rid  you  of  your  witch  wife  ? ' 
There  was  a  little  bitterness,  even  scorn,  in  the 
tone. 

'I  say  not  so,  mistress.  I  know  men-at-arms 
too  well  to  credit  all  they  say,  and  I  was  on  my 
way  to  inquire  into  the  matter  and  learn  the  truth 
when  these  same  Dacres  fell  on  me ;  and  that  I  lie 
here  is  due  to  you  and  good  Master  Lambert. 
Many  a  woman  whose  face  is  ill  favoured  has 
learnt  to  keep  up  her  power  by  unhallowed  arts, 
and  if  it  be  so  with  her  whom  in  my  boyish  prank 
I  have  marred,  Heaven  forgive  her  and  me.  If  I 
can  ever  return  I  shall  strive  to  trace  her  life  or 
death,  without  which  mayhap  I  could  scarce  win 
my  true  bride.' 

Grisell  could  hear  no  more  of  this  crushing  of 
her  hopes.  She  crept  away  murmuring  some- 
thing about  the  vesper  bell  at  the  convent  chapel 
near,  for  it  was  there  that  she  could  best  kneel, 
while  thoughts  and  strength  and  resolution  came 
to  her. 


xxiii  THE   CANKERED  OAK  GALL  241 

The  one  thing  clear  to  her  was  that  Sir  Leon- 
ard did  not  view  her,  or  rather  the  creature  at 
Whitburn  Tower,  as  his  wife,  but  as  a  hag,  may- 
hap a  sorceress  from  whom  he  desired  to  be  re- 
leased, and  that  his  love  to  Eleanor  Audley  was 
as  strong  as  ever. 

Should  she  make  herself  known  and  set  him 
free  ?  Nay,  but  then  what  would  become  of  him  ? 
He  still  needed  her  care,  which  he  accepted  as  that 
of  a  nurse,  and  while  he  believed  himself  to  be 
living  on  the  means  supplied  by  his  uncle  at 
Wearmouth  to  the  Apothecary,  this  had  soon  been 
exhausted,  and  Grisell  had  partly  supplied  what 
was  wanting  from  Ridley's  bag,  partly  from  what 
the  old  squire  had  sent  her  as  the  fishermen's  dues ; 
and  she  was  perceiving  how  to  supplement  this, 
or  replace  it  by  her  own  skill,  by  her  assistance  to 
Lambert  in  his  concoctions,  and  likewise  by  her 
lace-work,  which  was  of  a  device  learnt  at  Wilton 
and  not  known  at  Bruges.  There  was  something 
strangely  delightful  to  her  in  thus  supporting 
Leonard  even  though  he  knew  it  not,  and  she 
determined  to  persist  in  her  present  course  till 
there  was  some  change.  Suppose  he  heard  of 
Eleanor's  marriage  to  some  one  else !  Then  ?  But, 
ah,  the  cracked  apple  face.  She  must  find  a  glass, 
or  even  a  pail  of  water,  and  judge !     Or  the  Lan- 


242  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

eastrian  fortunes  might  revive,  he  might  go  home 
in  triumph,  and  then  would  she  give  him  her  ring 
and  her  renunciation,  and  either  earn  enough  to 
obtain  entrance  to  a  convent  or  perhaps  be  ac- 
cepted for  the  sake  of  her  handiwork! 

Any  way  the  prospect  was  dreary,  and  the 
affection  which  grew  upon  her  as  Leonard  recov- 
ered only  made  it  sadder.  To  reveal  herself 
would  only  be  misery  to  him,  and  in  his  present 
state  of  mind  would  deprive  him  of  all  he  needed, 
since  he  would  never  be  base  enough  to  let  her 
toil  for  him  and  then  cast  her  off . 

She  thought  it  best,  or  rather  she  yearned  so 
much  for  counsel,  that  at  night,  over  the  fire  in  the 
stove,  she  told  what  Leonard  had  said,  to  which 
her  host  listened  with  the  fatherly  sympathy  that 
had  grown  up  towards  her.  He  was  quite  deter- 
mined against  her  making  herself  known.  The 
accusation  of  sorcery  really  alarmed  him.  He  said 
that  to  be  known  as  the  fugitive  heiress  of  Whit- 
burn who  had  bewitched  the  young  squire  and 
many  more  might  bring  both  her  and  himself  into 
imminent  danger;  and  there  were  Lancastrian 
exiles  who  might  take  up  the  report.  Her  only 
safety  was  in  being  known,  to  the  few  who  did 
meet  her,  as  the  convent-bred  maiden  whose  home 
had  been  destroyed,  and  who  was  content  to  gain 


XXIII  THE   CANKERED  OAK  GALL  243 

a  livelihood  as  the  assistant  whom  his  wife's 
infirmity  made  needful.  As  to  Sir  Leonard,  the 
knight's  own  grace  and  gratitude  had  endeared 
him,  as  well  as  the  professional  pleasure  of  curing 
him,  and  for  the  lady's  sake  he  should  still  be 
made  welcome. 

So  matters  subsided.  No  one  knew  Grisell's 
story  except  Master  Lambert  and  her  Father  Con- 
fessor, and  whether  he  really  knew  it,  through  the 
medium  of  her  imperfect  French,  might  be  doubted. 
Even  Clemence,  though  of  course  aware  of  her 
identity,  did  not  know  all  the  details,  since  no 
one  who  could  communicate  with  her  had  thought 
it  well  to  distress  her  with  the  witchcraft  story. 

Few  came  beyond  the  open  booth,  which  served 
as  shop,  though  sometimes  there  would  be  ad- 
mitted to  walk  in  the  garden  and  converse  with 
Master  Groot,  a  young  Englishman  who  wanted 
his  counsel  on  giving  permanence  and  clearness  to 
the  ink  he  was  using  in  that  new  art  of  printing 
which  he  was  trying  to  perfect,  but  which  there 
were  some  who  averred  to  be  a  work  of  the  Evil 
One,  imparted  to  the  magician  Dr.  Faustus. 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

grisell's  patience 

When  silent  were  both  voice  and  chords, 

The  strain  seemed  doubly  dear, 
Yet  sad  as  sweet,  — for  English  words 

Had  fallen  upon  the  ear. 

Wordsworth,  Incident  at  Bruges. 

Meanwhile  Leonard  was  recovering  and  vex- 
ing himself  as  to  his  future  course,  inclining 
chiefly  to  making  his  way  back  to  Wearmouth  to 
ascertain   how  matters  were   going   in   England. 

One  afternoon,  however,  as  he  sat  close  to  the 
window,  while  Grisell  sang  to  him  one  of  her 
sweet  old  ballads,  a  face,  attracted  by  the  English 
words  and  voice,  was  turned  up  to  him.  He  ex- 
claimed, 'By  St.  Mary,  Philip  Scrope,'  and  start- 
ing up,  began  to  feel  for  the  stick  which  he  still 
needed. 

A  voice  was  almost  at  the  same  moment  heard 
from  the  outer  shop  inquiring  in  halting  French, 
'Did  I  see  the  face  of  the  Beau  Sire  Leonard 
Copeland  ? ' 

244 


CHAP.  XXIV  GKiSELL'S  PATIENCE  245 

By  the  time  Leonard  had  hobbled  to  the  door 
into  the  booth,  a  tall  perfectly-equipped  man-at- 
arms,  in  velvet  bonnet  with  the  Burgundian 
Cross,  bright  cuirass,  rich  crimson  surcoat,  and 
handsome  sword  belt,  had  advanced,  and  the  two 
embraced  as  old  friends  did  embrace  in  the  middle 
ages,  especially  when  each  had  believed  the  other 
dead. 

'I  deemed  thee  dead  at  Towton! ' 

'Methought  you  were  slain  in  the  north!  You 
have  not  come  off  scot-free.' 

'Nay,  but  I  had  a  narrow  escape.  My  honest 
fellows  took  me  to  my  uncle  at  Wearmouth,  and 
he  shipped  me  off  with  the  good  folk  here,  and 
cares  for  my  maintenance.  How  didst  thou 
'scape  ? ' 

'Half  a  dozen  of  us  —  Will  Percy  and  a  few 
more  —  made  off  from  the  wof ul  field  under  cover 
of  night,  and  got  to  the  sea-shore,  to  a  village  — 
I  know  not  the  name  —  and  laid  hands  on  a  fisher's 
smack,  which  Jock  of  Hull  was  seaman  enough 
to  steer  with  the  aid  of  the  lad  on  board,  as  far  as 
Friesland,  and  thence  we  made  our  way  as  best  we 
could  to  Utrecht,  where  we  had  the  luck  to  fall  in 
with  one  of  the  Duke's  captains,  who  was  glad 
enough  to  meet  with  a  few  stout  fellows  to  make 
up  his  company  of  men-at-arms. 


246  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

'Oh!  Methought  it  was  the  Cross  of  Burgundy. 
How  art  thou  so  well  attired,  Phil  ?  * 

'We  have  all  been  pranked  out  to  guard  our 
Duke  to  the  King  of  France's  sacring  at  Rheims. 
I  promise  thee  the  jewels  and  gold  blazed  as  we 
never  saw  the  like  —  and  as  to  the  rascaille  Scots 
archers,  every  one  of  them  was  arrayed  so  as  the 
sight  was  enough  to  drive  an  honest  Borderer 
crazy.  Half  their  own  kingdom's  worth  was  on 
their  beggarly  backs.  But  do  what  they  might, 
our  Duke  surpassed  them  all  with  his  largesses 
and  splendour.  * 

'  Your  Duke ! '  grumbled  Leonard. 

'Aye,  mine  for  the  nonce,  and  a  right  open- 
handed  lord  is  he.  Better  be  under  him  than 
under  the  shrivelled  skinflint  of  France,  who  wore 
his  fine  robes  as  though  they  galled  him.  Come 
and  take  service  here  when  thou  art  whole  of  thine 
hurt,  Leonard.' 

'I  thought  thy  Duke  was  disinclined  to  Lan- 
caster. ' 

'He  may  be  to  the  Queen  and  the  poor  King, 
whom  the  Saints  guard,  but  he  likes  English 
hearts  and  thews  in  his  pay  well  enough. ' 

'Thou  knowst  I  am  a  knight,  worse  luck.' 

'Heed  not  for  thy  knighthood.  The  Duke  of 
Exeter  and  my  Lord  of  Oxford  have  put  their 


XXIV  GRISELL'S  PATIENCE  247 

honours  in  their  pouch  and  are  serving  him.  Thy 
lame  leg  is  a  worse  hindrance  than  the  gold  spur 
on  it,  but  I  trow  that  will  pass.' 

The  comrades  talked  on,  over  the  fate  of  Eng- 
lish friends  and  homes,  and  the  hopelessness  of 
their  cause.  It  was  agreed  in  this,  and  in  many 
subsequent  visits  from  Scrope,  that  so  soon  as 
Leonard  should  have  shaken  off  his  lameness  he 
should  begin  service  under  one  of  the  Duke's  cap- 
tains. A  man-at-arms  in  the  splendid  suite  of 
the  Burgundian  Dukes  was  generally  of  good 
birth,  and  was  attended  by  two  grooms  and  a  page 
when  in  the  field;  his  pay  was  fairly  sufficient, 
and  his  accoutrements  and  arms  were  required  to 
be  such  as  to  do  honour  to  his  employer.  It  was 
the  refuge  sooner  or  later  of  many  a  Lancastrian, 
and  Leonard,  who  doubted  of  the  regularity  of 
his  uncle's  supplies,  decided  that  he  could  do  no 
better  for  himself  while  waiting  for  better  times 
for  his  Queen,  though  Master  Lambert  told  him 
that  he  need  not  distress  himself,  there  were  ample 
means  for  him  still. 

Grisell  span  and  sewed  for  his  outfit,  with  a 
strange  sad  pleasure  in  working  for  him,  and  she 
was  absolutely  proud  of  him  when  he'  stood  before 
her,  perfectly  recovered,  with  the  glow  of  health 
on  his  cheek  and  a  light  in  his  eye,  his  length  of 


248  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

limb  arrayed  in  his  own  armour,  furbished  and 
mended,  his  bright  helmet  alone  new  and  of  her 
own  providing  (out  of  her  mother's  pearl  neck- 
lace), his  surcoat  and  silken  scarf  all  her  own  em- 
broidering. As  he  truly  said,  he  made  a  much 
finer  appearance  than  he  had  done  on  the  morn  of 
his  melancholy  knighthood,  in  the  poverty-stricken 
army  of  King  Henry  at  Northampton. 

'Thanks,'  he  said,  with  a  courteous  bow,  Ho  his 
good  friends  and  hosts,  who  had  a  wonderful 
power  over  the  purse.'  He  added  special  thanks 
to  'Mistress  Grisell  for  her  deft  stitchery, '  and 
she  responded  with  downcast  face,  and  a  low 
courtesy,  while  her  heart  throbbed  high. 

Such  a  cavalier  was  sure  of  enlistment,  and 
Leonard  came  to  take  leave  of  his  host,  and  an- 
nounced that  he  had  been  sent  off  with  his  friend 
to  garrison  Neufch^tel,  where  the  castle,  being  a 
border  one,  was  always  carefully  watched  over. 

His  friends  at  Bruges  rejoiced  in  his  absence, 
since  it  prevented  his  knowledge  of  the  arrival  of 
his  beloved  Queen  Margaret  and  her  son  at  Sluys, 
with  only  seven  attendants,  denuded  of  almost 
everything,  having  lost  her  last  castles,  and  some- 
times having  had  to  exist  on  a  single  herring  a  day. 

Perhaps  Leonard  would  have  laid  his  single 
sword  at  her  feet  if  he  had  known  of  her  presence, 


XXIV  GEISELL'S   PATIENCE  249 

but  tidings  travelled  slowly,  and  before  they  ever 
reached  Neufchatel  the  Duke  had  bestowed  on  her 
wherewithal  to  continue  her  journey  to  her  father's 
Court  at  Bar. 

However,  he  did  not  move.  Indeed  he  did  not 
hear  of  the  Queen's  journey  to  Scotland  and  fresh 
attempt  till  all  had  been  again  lost  at  Hedgeley 
Moor  and  Hexham.  He  was  so  good  and  efficient 
a  man-at-arms  that  he  rose  in  promotion,  and  at- 
tracted the  notice  of  the  Count  of  Charolais,  the 
eldest  son  of  the  Duke,  who  made  him  one  of  his 
own  bodyguard.  His  time  was  chiefly  spent  in 
escorting  the  Count  from  one  castle  or  city  to 
another,  but  whenever  Charles  the  Bold  was  at 
Bruges,  Leonard  came  to  the  sign  of  the  Green 
Serpent  not  only  for  lodging,  nor  only  to  take  up 
the  money  that  Lambert  had  in  charge  for  him, 
but  as  to  a  home  where  he  was  sure  of  a  welcome, 
and  of  kindly  woman's  care  of  his  wardrobe,  and 
where  he  grew  more  and  more  to  look  to  the  sym- 
pathy and  understanding  of  his  English  and  Bur- 
gundian  interests  alike,  which  he  found  in  the 
maiden  who  sat  by  the  hearth. 

From  time  to  time  old  Ridley  came  to  see  her. 
He  was  clad  in  a  pilgrim's  gown  and  broad  hat, 
and  looked  much  older.  He  had  had  free  quarters 
at  Willimoteswick,  but  the  wild  young  Borderers 


250  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

had  not  suited  his  old  age  well,  except  one  clerkly 
youth,  who  reminded  him  of  little  Bernard,  and 
who,  later,  was  the  patron  of  his  nephew,  the 
famous  Nicolas.  He  had  thus  set  out  on  pilgrim- 
age, as  the  best  means  of  visiting  his  dear  lady. 
The  first  time  he  came,  under  his  robe  he  carried 
a  girdle,  where  was  sewn  up  a  small  supply  from 
Father  Copeland  for  his  nephew,  and  another 
sum,  very  meagre,  but  collected  from  the  faithful 
retainers  of  Whitburn  for  their  lady.  He  meant 
to  visit  the  Three  Kings  at  Cologne,  and  then  to 
go  on  to  St.  Gall,  and  to  the  various  nearer 
shrines  in  France,  but  to  return  again  to  see 
Grisell;  and  from  time  to  time  he  showed  his 
honest  face,  more  and  more  weather-beaten, 
though  a  pilgrim  was  never  in  want;  but  Grisell 
delighted  in  preparing  new  gowns,  clean  linen, 
and  fresh  hats  for  him. 

Public  events  passed  while  she  still  lived  and 
worked  in  the  Apothecary's  house  at  Bruges. 
There  were  wars  in  which  Sir  Leonard  Copeland 
had  his  share,  not  very  perilous  to  a  knight  in  full 
armour,  but  falling  very  heavily  on  poor  citizens. 
Bruges,  however,  was  at  peace  and  exceedingly 
prosperous,  with  its  fifty-two  guilds  of  citizens, 
and  wonderful  trade  and  wealth.  The  bells 
seemed  to  be  always  chiming  from  its  many  beau- 


XXIV  GRISELL'S  PATIENCE  251 

tiful  steeples,  and  there  was  one  convent  lately 
founded  which  began  to  have  a  special  interest  for 
Grisell. 

It  was  the  house  of  the  Hospitaller  Grey  Sisters, 
which  if  not  actually  founded  had  been  much 
embellished  by  Isabel  of  Portugal,  the  wife  of  the 
Duke  of  Burgundy.  Philip,  though  called  the 
Good,  from  his  genial  manners,  and  bounteous 
liberality,  was  a  man  of  violent  temper  and  terri- 
ble severity  when  offended.  He  had  a  fierce  quar- 
rel with  his  only  son,  who  was  equally  hot  tem- 
pered. The  Duchess  took  part  with  her  son,  and 
fell  under  such  furious  displeasure  from  her  hus- 
band that  she  retired  into  the  house  of  Grey  Sis- 
ters. She  was  first  cousin  once  removed  to  Henry 
VI. —  her  mother,  the  admirable  Philippa,  having 
been  a  daughter  of  John  of  Gaunt  —  and  she  was 
the  sister  of  the  noble  Princes,  King  Edward  of 
Portugal,  Henry  the  great  voyager,  and  Ferdinand 
the  Constant  Prince;  and  she  had  never  been 
thoroughly  at  home  or  happy  in  Flanders,  where 
her  husband  was  of  a  far  coarser  nature  than  her 
own  family;  and,  in  her  own  words,  after  many 
years,  she  always  felt  herself  a  stranger. 

Some  of  Grisell's  lace  had  found  its  way  to  the 
convent,  and  was  at  once  recognised  by  her  as 
English,  such  as  her  mother  had  always  prized. 


252  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap,  xxiv 

She  wished  to  give  the  Chaplain  a  set  of  robes 
adorned  with  lace  after  a  pattern  of  her  own  devis- 
ing, bringing  in  the  five  crosses  of  Portugal,  with 
appropriate  wreaths  of  flowers  and  emblems.  Be- 
ing told  that  the  English  maiden  in  Master 
Groot's  house  could  devise  her  own  patterns,  she 
desired  to  see  her  and  explain  the  design  in 
person. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE  OLD   DUCHESS 

Temples  that  rear  their  stately  heads  on  high, 
Canals  that  intersect  the  fertile  plain, 
Wide  streets  and  squares,  with  many  a  court  and  hall, 
Spacious  and  undefined,  but  ancient  all. 

SouTHEY,  Pilgrimage  to  Waterloo. 

The  kind  couple  of  Groots  were  exceedingly 
solicitous  about  Grisell's  appearance  before  the 
Duchess,  and  much  concerned  that  she  could  not 
be  induced  to  wear  the  head-gear  a  foot  or  more 
in  height,  with  veils  depending  from  the  peak, 
which  was  the  fashion  of  the  Netherlands.  Her 
black  robe  and  hood,  permitted  but  not  enjoined 
in  the  external  or  third  Order  of  St.  Francis,  were, 
as  usual,  her  dress,  and  under  it  might  be  seen  a 
face,  with  something  peculiar  on  one  side,  but 
still  full  of  sweetness  and  intelligence;  and  the 
years  of  comfort  and  quiet  had,  in  spite  of  anxi- 
ety, done  much  to  obliterate  the  likeness  to  a  can- 
kered oak  gall.  Lambert  wanted  to  drench  her 
with  perfumes,  but  she  only  submitted  to  have  a 

253 


254  GKISLY  GEISELL  .  chap. 

little  essence  in  the  pouncet  box  given  her  long 
ago  by  Lady  Margaret  at  their  parting  at  Ames- 
bury.  Master  Groot  himself  chose  to  conduct  her 
on  this  first  great  occasion,  and  they  made  their 
way  to  the  old  gateway,  sculptured  above  with 
figures  that  still  remain,  into  the  great  cloistered 
court,  with  its  chapel,  chapter-house,  and  splen- 
did great  airy  hall,  in  which  the  Hospital  Sisters 
received  their  patients. 

They  were  seen  flitting  about,  giving  a  general 
effect  of  gray,  whence  they  were  known  as  Soeurs 
Grises,  though,  in  fact,  their  dress  was  white, 
with  a  black  hood  and  mantle.  The  Duchess, 
however,  lived  in  a  set  of  chambers  on  one  side 
of  the  court,  which  she  had  built  and  fitted  for 
herself. 

A  lay  sister  became  Grisell's  guide,  and  just 
then,  coming  down  from  the  Duchess's  apart- 
ments, with  a  board  with  a  chalk  sketch  in  his 
hand,  appeared  a  young  man,  whom  Groot  greeted 
as  Master  Hans  Memling,  and  who  had  been  re- 
ceiving orders,  and  showing  designs  to  the  Duch- 
ess for  the  ornamentation  of  the  convent,  which 
in  later  years  he  so  splendidly  carried  out.  With 
him  Lambert  remained. 

There  was  a  broad  stone  stair,  leading  to  a  large 
apartment  hung  with  stamped   Spanish   leather, 


XXV  THE   OLD  DUCHESS  255 

representing  the  history  of  King  David,  and  with 
a  window,  glazed  as  usual  below  with  circles  and 
lozenges,  but  the  upper  part  glowing  with  col- 
oured glass.  At  the  farther  end  was  a  dais  with 
a  sort  of  throne,  like  the  tester  and  canopy  of  a 
four-post  bed,  with  curtains  looped  up  at  each 
side.  Here  the  Duchess  sat,  surrounded  by  her 
ladies,  all  in  the  sober  dress  suitable  with  monas- 
tic life. 

Grisell  knew  her  duty  too  well  not  to  kneel 
down  when  admitted.  A  dark-complexioned  lady 
came  to  lead  her  forward,  and  directed  her  to  kneel 
twice  on  her  way  to  the  Duchess.  She  obeyed, 
and  in  that  indescribable  manner  which  betrayed 
something  of  her  breeding,  so  that  after  her  second 
obeisance,  the  manner  of  the  lady  altered  visibly 
from  what  it  had  been  at  first  as  to  a  burgher 
maiden.  The  wealth  and  luxury  of  the  citizen 
world  of  the  Low  Countries  caused  the  proud  and 
jealous  nobility  to  treat  them  with  the  greater  dis- 
tance of  manner.  And,  as  Grisell  afterwards 
learnt,  this  was  Isabel  de  Souza,  Countess  of  Poi- 
tiers, a  Portuguese  lady  who  had  come  over  with 
her  Infanta;  and  whose  daughter  produced  Les 
Eonneurs  de  la  Coui\  the  most  wonderful  of  all 
descriptions  of  the  formalities  of  the  Court. 

Grisell  remained  kneeling  on  the  steps  of  the 


256  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

dais,  while  the  Duchess  addressed  her  in  much 
more  imperfect  Flemish  than  she  could  by  this 
time  speak  herself. 

'You  are  the  lace  weaver,  maiden.  Can  you 
speak  French  ? ' 

'  Oui^  si  madame^  son  Altese  le  veut, '  replied 
Grisell,  for  her  tongue  had  likewise  become  accus- 
tomed to  French  in  this  city  of  many  tongues. 

'This  is  English  make,'  said  the  Duchess,  not 
with  a  very  good  French  accent  either,  looking  at 
the  specimens  handed  by  her  lady.  'Are  you 
English  ? ' 

'So  please  your  Highness,  I  am.' 

'An  exile? '  the  Princess  added  kindly. 

'Yes,  madame.  All  my  family  perished  in  our 
wars,  and  I  owe  shelter  to  the  good  Apothecary, 
Master  Lambert. ' 

'Purveyor  of  drugs  to  the  sisters.  Yes,  I  have 
heard  of  him ; '  and  she  then  proceeded  with  her 
orders,  desiring  to  see  the  first  piece  Grisell 
should  produce  in  the  pattern  she  wished,  which 
was  to  be  of  roses  in  honour  of  St.  Elizabeth  of 
Hungary,  whom  the  Peninsular  Isabels  reckoned 
as  their  namesake  and  patroness. 

It  was  a  pattern  which  would  require  fresh 
pricking  out,  and  much  skill ;  but  Grisell  thought 
she  could  accomplish  it,  and  took  her  leave,  kiss- 


XXV  THE  OLD  DUCHESS  257 

ing  the  Duchess's  hand  —  a  great  favour  to  be 
granted  to  her  —  curtseying  three  times,  and  walk- 
ing backwards,  after  the  old  training  that  seemed 
to  come  back  to  her  with  the  atmosphere. 

Master  Lambert  was  overjoyed  when  he  heard 
all.  'Now  you  will  find  your  way  back  to  your 
proper  station  and  rank, '  he  said. 

'It  may  do  more  than  that,'  said  Grisell.  'If  I 
could  plead  his  cause.' 

Lambert  only  sighed.  'I  would  fain  your  way 
was  not  won  by  a  base,  mechanical  art,'  he  said. 

'Out  on  you,  my  master.  The  needle  and  the 
bobbin  are  unworthy  of  none ;  and  as  to  the  hon- 
our of  the  matter,  what  did  Sir  Leonard  tell  us 
but  that  the  Countess  of  Oxford,  as  now  she  is, 
was  maintaining  her  husband  by  her  needle  ?  '  and 
Grisell  ended  with  a  sigh  at  thought  of  the  happy 
woman  whose  husband  knew  of,  and  was  grateful 
for,  her  toils. 

The  pattern  needed  much  care,  and  Lambert 
induced  Hans  Memling  himself,  who  drew  it  so 
that  it  could  be  pricked  out  for  the  cushion.  In 
after  times  it  might  have  been  held  a  greater  hon- 
our to  work  from  his  pattern  than  for  the  Duchess, 
who  sent  to  inquire  after  it  more  than  once,  and 
finally  desired  that  Mistress  Grisell  should  bring 
her  cushion  and  show  her  progress. 


258  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

She  was  received  with  all  the  same  ceremonies 
as  before,  and  even  the  small  fragment  that  was 
finished  delighted  the  Princess,  who  begged  to 
see  her  at  work.  As  it  could  not  well  be  done 
kneeling,  a  footstool,  covered  in  tapestry  with  the 
many  Burgundian  quarterings,  was  brought,  and 
here  Grisell  was  seated,  the  Duchess  bending  over 
her,  and  asking  questions  as  her  lingers  flew,  at 
first  about  the  work,  but  afterwards,  'Where  did 
you  learn  this  art,  maiden?' 

'At  Wilton,  so  please  your  Highness.  The 
nunnery  of  St.  Edith,  near  to  Salisbury. ' 

'St.  Edith!  I  think  my  mother,  whom  the 
Saints  rest,  spoke  of  her ;  but  I  have  not  heard  of 
her  in  Portugal  nor  here.     Where  did  she  suffer  ? ' 

'She  was  not  martyred,  madame,  but  she  has  a 
fair  legend. ' 

And  on  encouragement  Grisell  related  the 
legend  of  St.  Edith  and  the  christening. 

'You  speak  well,  maiden,'  said  the  Duchess. 
'It  is  easy  to  perceive  that  you  are  convent  trained. 
Have  the  wars  in  England  hindered  your  being 
professed  ? ' 

'Nay,  madame;  it  was  the  Proctor  of  the  Italian 
Abbess.' 

Therewith  the  inquiries  of  the  Duchess  elicited 
all  Grisell's  earty  story,  with  the  exception  of  her 


XXV  THE   OLD   DUCHESS  259 

name  and  whose  was  the  iron  that  caused  the  ex- 
plosion, and  likewise  of  her  marriage,  and  the  ac- 
cusation of  sorcery.  That  male  heirs  of  the  oppo- 
site party  should  have  expelled  the  orphan  heiress 
was  only  too  natural  an  occurrence.  Nor  did 
Grisell  conceal  her  home;  but  Whitburn  was  an 
impossible  word  to  Portuguese  lips,  and  Dacre 
they  pronounced  after  its  crusading  derivation  De 
Acor. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 


Wither  one  Eose,  and  let  the  other  flourish ; 
If  you  contend,  a  thousand  lives  must  wither. 

Shakespeare,  King  Henry  VI.,  Part  III. 

So  time  went  on,  and  the  rule  of  the  House  of 
York  in  England  seemed  established,  while  the 
exiles  had  settled  down  in  Burgundy,  Grisell  to 
her  lace  pillow,  Leonard  to  the  suite  of  the  Count 
de  Charolais.  Indeed  there  was  reason  to  think 
that  he  had  come  to  acquiesce  in  the  change  of 
dynasty,  or  at  any  rate  to  think  it  unwise  and 
cruel  to  bring  on  another  desperate  civil  war.  In 
fact,  many  of  the  Red  Rose  party  were  making 
their  peace  with  Edward  IV.  Meanwhile  the 
Duchess  Isabel  became  extremely  fond  of  Grisell, 
and  often  summoned  her  to  come  and  work  by  her 
side,  and  talk  to  her;  and  thus  came  on  the  sum- 
mer of  1467,  when  Duke  Philip  returned  from  the 
sack  of  unhappy  Dinant  in  a  weakened  state,  and 
soon  after  was  taken  fatally  ill.  All  the  city  of 
Bruges  watched  in  anxiety  for  tidings,  for   the 


CHAP.  XXVI  THE  DUKE'S  DEATH  261 

kindly  Duke  was  really  loved  where  his  hand  did 
not  press.  One  evening  during  the  suspense  when 
Master  Lambert  was  gone  out  to  gather  tidings, 
there  was  the  step  with  clank  of  spurs  which  had 
grown  familiar,  and  Leonard  Copeland  strode  in 
hot  and  dusty,  greeting  Vrow  Clemence  as  usual 
with  a  touch  of  the  hand  and  inclination  of  the 
head,  and  Grisell  with  hand  and  courteous  voice, 
as  he  threw  himself  on  the  settle,  heated  and 
weary,  and  began  with  tired  fingers  to  unfasten 
his  heavy  steel  cap. 

Grisell  hastened  to  help  him,  Clemence  to  fetch 
a  cup  of  cooling  Rhine  wine.  'There,  thanks, 
mistress.  We  have  ridden  all  day  from  Ghent, 
in  the  heat  and  dust,  and  after  all  the  Count  got 
before  us.' 

'To  the  Duke?' 

'Ay!  He  was  like  one  demented  at  tidings  of 
his  father's  sickness.  Say  what  they  will  of  hot 
words  and  fierce  passages  between  them,  that 
father  and  son  have  hearts  loving  one  another 
truly.' 

'It  is  well  they  should  agree  at  the  last,'  said 
Grisell,  'or  the  Count  will  carry  with  him  the 
sorest  of  memories.' 

And  indeed  Charles  the  Bold  was  on  his  knees 
beside  the  bed  of  his  speechless  father  in  an  agony 
of  grief. 


262  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

Presently  all  the  bells  in  Bruges  began  to  clash 
out  their  warning  that  a  soul  was  passing  to  the 
unseen  land,  and  Grisell  made  signs  to  Clemence, 
while  Leonard  lifted  himself  upright,  and  all 
breathed  the  same  for  the  mighty  Prince  as  for  the 
poorest  beggar,  the  intercession  for  the  dying. 
Then  the  solemn  note  became  a  knell,  and  their 
prayer  changed  to  the  De  Profundis,  'Out  of  the 
depths. ' 

Presently  Lambert  Groot  came  in,  grave  and 
saddened,  with  the  intelligence  that  Philip  the 
Good  had  departed  in  peace,  with  his  wife  and 
son  on  either  side  of  him,  and  his  little  grand- 
daughter kneeling  beside  the  Duchess. 

There  was  bitter  weeping  all  over  Bruges,  and 
soon  all  over  Flanders  and  the  other  domains 
united  under  the  Dukedom  of  Burgundy,  for 
though  Philip  had  often  deeply  erred,  he  had 
been  a  fair  ruler,  balancing  discordant  interests 
justly,  and  maintaining  peace,  while  all  that  was 
splendid  or  luxurious  prospered  and  throve  under 
him.  There  was  a  certain  dread  of  the  future 
under  his  successor. 

'A  better  man  at  heart,'  said  Leonard,  who  had 
learnt  to  love  the  Count  de  Charolais.  'He  loathes 
the  vices  and  revelry  that  have  stained  the  Court. ' 

'That  is  true,'  said  Lambert.     'Yet  he  is  a  man 


XXVI  THE  DUKE'S  DEATH  263 

of  violence,  and  with  none  of  the  skill  and  dex- 
terity with  which  Duke  Philip  steered  his  course. ' 

'A  plague  on  such  skill,'  muttered  Leonard. 
'Caring  solely  for  his  own  gain,  not  for  the  right! ' 

'Yet  your  Count  has  a  heavy  hand,'  said  Lam- 
bert.    'Witness  DinantI  unhappy  Dinant.' 

'The  rogues  insulted  his  mother,'  said  Leonard. 
'He  offered  them  terms  which  they  would  not 
have  in  their  stubborn  pride !  But  speak  not  of 
that!  I  never  saw  the  like  in  England.  There 
we  strike  at  the  great,  not  at  the  small.  Ah  well, 
with  all  our  wars  and  troubles  England  was  the 
better  place  to  live  in.  Shall  we  ever  see  it 
more  ? ' 

There  was  something  delightful  to  Grisell  in 
that  'we,'  but  she  made  answer,  'So  far  as  I  hear, 
there  has  been  quiet  there  for  the  last  two  years 
under  King  Edward. ' 

'Ay,  and  after  all  he  has  the  right  of  blood,' 
said  Leonard.  'Our  King  Henry  is  a  saint,  and 
Queen  Margaret  a  peerless  dame  of  romance,  but 
since  I  have  come  to  years  of  understanding  I  have 
seen  that  they  neither  had  true  claim  of  inheri- 
tance nor  power  to  rule  a  realm. ' 

'Then  would  you  make  your  peace  with  the 
White  Rose?' 

'The  rose  en  soleil  that  wrought  us  so  much  evil 


264  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

at  Mortimer's  Cross?  Methinks  I  would.  I 
never  swore  allegiance  to  King  Henry.  My  father 
was  still  living  when  last  I  saw  that  sweet  and 
gracious  countenance  which  I  must  defend  for  love 
and  reverence'  sake.' 

'And  he  knighted  you,'  said  Grisell. 

'True,'  with  a  sharp  glance,  as  if  he  wondered 
how  she  was  aware  of  the  fact;  'but  only  as  my 
father's  heir.  My  poor  old  house  and  tenants!  I 
would  I  knew  how  they  fare;  but  mine  uncle 
sends  me  no  letters,  though  he  does  supply  me. ' 

'Then  you  do  not  feel  bound  in  honour  to  Lan- 
caster ? '  said  Grisell. 

'Nay;  I  did  not  stir  or  strive  to  join  the  Queen 
when  last  she  called  up  the  Scots  —  the  Scots  in- 
deed !  —  to  aid  her.  I  could  not  join  them  in  a 
foray  on  England.  I  fear  me  she  will  move 
heaven  and  earth  again  when  her  son  is  of  age  to 
bear  arms ;  but  my  spirit  rises  against  allies  among 
Scots  or  French,  and  I  cannot  think  it  well  to 
bring  back  bloodshed  and  slaughter. ' 

'I  shall  pray  for  peace,'  said  Grisell.  All  this 
was  happiness  to  her,  as  she  felt  that  he  was 
treating  her  with  confidence.  Would  she  ever  be 
nearer  to  him  ? 

He  was  a  graver,  more  thoughtful  man  at  seven 
and  twenty  than  he  had  been  at  the  time  of  his 


XXVI  THE   DUKE'S   DEATH  265 

hurried  marriage,  and  had  conversed  with  men  of 
real  understanding  of  the  welfare  of  their  country. 
Such  talks  as  these  made  Grisell  feel  that  she 
could  look  up  to  him  as  most  truly  her  lord  and 
guide.  But  how  was  it  with  the  fair  Eleanor, 
and  whither  did  his  heart  incline  ?  An  English 
merchant,  who  came  for  spices,  had  said  that  the 
Lord  Audley  had  changed  sides,  and  it  was  thus 
probable  that  the  damsel  was  bestowed  in  marriage 
to  a  Yorkist;  but  there  was  no  knowing,  nor  did 
Grisell  dare  to  feel  her  way  to  discovering  whether 
Leonard  knew,  or  felt  himself  still  bound  to  con- 
stancy, outwardly  and  in  heart. 

Ever}'  one  was  taken  up  with  the  funeral  solem- 
nities of  Duke  Philip ;  he  was  to  be  finally  in- 
terred with  his  father  and  grandfather  in  the 
grand  tombs  at  Dijon,  but  for  the  present  the  body 
was  to  be  placed  in  the  Church  of  St.  Donatus  at 
Bruges,  at  night. 

Sir  Leonard  rode  at  a  foot's  pace  in  the  troop  of 
men-at-arms,  all  in  full  armour,  which  glanced  in 
the  light  of  the  sixteen  hundred  torches  which 
were  borne  before,  behind,  and  in  the  midst  of  the 
procession,  which  escorted  the  bier.  Outside  the 
coffin,  arrayed  in  ducal  coronet  and  robes,  with 
the  Golden  Fleece  collar  round  the  neck,  lay  the 
exact  likeness  of  the  aged  Duke,  and  on  shields 


266  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

around  the  pall,  as  well  as  on  banners  borne  wav- 
ing aloft,  were  the  armorial  bearings  of  all  his 
honours,  his  four  dukedoms,  seven  counties,  lord- 
ships innumerable,  besides  the  banners  of  all  the 
guilds  carried  to  do  him  honour. 

More  than  twenty  prelates  were  present,  and 
shared  in  the  mass,  which  began  in  the  morning 
hour,  and  in  the  requiem.  The  heralds  of  all  the 
domains  broke  their  white  staves  and  threw  them 
on  the  bier,  proclaiming  that  Philip,  lord  of  all 
these  lands,  was  deceased.  Then,  as  in  the  case 
of  royalty,  Charles  his  son  was  proclaimed;  and 
the  organ  led  an  acclamation  of  jubilee  from  all 
the  assembly  which  filled  the  church,  and  a  shout 
as  of  thunder  arose,  'Vivat  Carolus.' 

Charles  knelt  meanwhile  with  hands  clasped 
over  his  brow,  silent,  immovable.  Was  he  crushed 
at  thought  of  the  whirlwinds  of  passion  that  had 
raged  between  him  and  the  father  whom  he  had 
loved  all  the  time  ?  or  was  there  on  him  the  weight 
of  a  foreboding  that  he,  though  free  from  the 
grosser  faults  of  his  father,  would  never  win  and 
keep  hearts  in  the  same  manner,  and  that  a  sad, 
tumultuous,  troubled  career  and  piteous,  untimely 
end  lay  before  him  ? 

His  mother,  Grisell's  Duchess,  according  to  the 
rule  of  the  Court,  lay  in  bed  for  six  weeks  —  at 


XXVI  THE   DUKE'S  DEATH  267 

least  she  was  bound  to  lie  there  whenever  she  was 
not  in  entire  privacy.  The  room  and  bed  were 
hung  with  black,  but  a  white  covering  was  over 
her,  and  she  was  fully  dressed  in  the  black  and 
white  weeds  of  royal  widowhood.  The  light  of 
day  was  excluded,  and  hosts  of  wax  candles  burnt 
around. 

Grisell  did  not  see  her  during  this  first  period 
of  stately  mourning,  but  she  heard  that  the  good 
lady  had  spent  her  time  in  weeping  and  praying 
for  her  husband,  all  the  more  earnestly  that  she 
had  little  cause  personally  to  mourn  him. 


CHAPTER   XXVII 

FORGET  ME  NOT 

And  added,  of  her  wit, 
A  border  fantasy  of  branch  and  flower, 
And  yellow-throated  nestling  in  the  nest. 

Tennyson,  Elaine. 

The  Duchess  Isabel  sent  for  Grisell  as  soon  as 
the  rules  of  etiquette  permitted,  and  her  own 
mind  was  free,  to  attend  to  the  suite  of  lace  hang- 
ings, with  which  much  progress  had  been  made 
in  the  interval.  She  was  in  the  palace  now, 
greatly  honoured,  for  her  son  loved  her  with  de- 
voted affection,  and  Grisell  had  to  pass  through 
tapestry-hung  halls  and  chambers,  one  after  an- 
other, with  persons  in  mourning,  all  filled  with 
men-at-arms  first,  then  servants  still  in  black 
dresses.  Next  pages  and  squires,  knights  of  the 
lady,  and  lastly  ladies  in  black  velvet,  who  sat 
at  their  work,  with  a  chaplain  reading  to  them. 
One  of  these,  the  Countess  of  Poitiers,  whom 
Grisell  had  known  at  the  Grey  Sisters'  convent, 
rose,  graciously  received  her  obeisance,  and  con- 
268 


CHAP.  XXVII  FORGET  ME   NOT  269 

ducted  her  into  the  great  State  bedroom,  likewise 
very  sombre,  with  black  hangings  worked  and 
edged,  however,  with  white,  and  the  window  was 
permitted  to  let  in  the  light  of  day.  The  bed  was 
raised  on  steps  in  an  alcove,  and  was  splendidly 
draped  and  covered  with  black  embroidered  with 
white,  but  the  Duchess  did  not  occupy  it.  A 
curtain  was  lifted,  and  she  came  forward  in  her 
deepest  robes  of  widowhood,  leading  her  little 
grand-daughter  Mary,  a  child  of  eight  or  nine 
years  old.  Grisell  knelt  to  kiss  the  hands  of  each, 
and  the  Duchess  said  — 

'Good  Griselda,  it  is  long  since  I  have  seen 
you.     Have  you  finished  the  border?  ' 

'Yes,  your  Highness;  and  I  have  begun  the 
edging  of  the  corporal. ' 

The  Duchess  looked  at  the  work  Avith  admira- 
tion, and  bade  the  little  Mary,  the  damsel  of  Bur- 
gundy, look  on  and  see  how  the  dainty  web  was 
woven,  while  she  signed  the  maker  to  seat  herself 
on  a  step  of  the  alcove. 

When  the  child's  questions  and  interest  were 
exhausted,  and  she  began  to  be  somewhat  peril- 
ously curious  about  the  carved  weights  of  the 
bobbins,  her  grandmother  sent  her  to  play  with 
the  ladies  in  the  ante-room,  desiring  Grisell  to 
continue  the  work.     After   a   few  kindly  words 


270  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

the  Duchess  said,  'The  poor  child  is  to  have  a 
stepdame  so  soon  as  the  year  of  mourning  is 
passed.  May  she  be  good  to  her!  Hath  the 
rumour  thereof  reached  you  in  the  city,  Maid 
Griselda,  that  my  son  is  in  treaty  with  your  Eng- 
lish King,  though  he  loves  not  the  house  of  York  ? 
But  princely  alliances  must  be  looked  for  in  mar- 
riage.' 

'Madge!'  exclaimed  Grisell;  then  colouring,  I 
'should  say  the  Lady  Margaret  of  York.' 

'You  knew  her? ' 

'Oh!  I  knew  her.  We  loved  each  other  well 
in  the  Lord  of  Salisbury's  house !  There  never 
was  a  maid  whom  I  knew  or  loved  like  her! ' 

.'In  the  Count  of  Salisbury's  house,'  repeated 
the  Duchess.  'Were  you  there  as  the  Lady  Mar- 
garet's fellow-pupil  ?  '  she  said,  as  though  perceiv- 
ing that  her  lace  maker  must  be  of  higher  quality 
than  she  had  supposed. 

'It  was  while  my  father  was  alive,  madame,  and 
before  her  father  had  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  throne, 
your  Highness. ' 

'And  your  father  was,  you  said,  the  knight  De 
_De  — D'Acor.' 

'So  please  you,  madame,'  said  Grisell  kneeling, 
'not  to  mention  my  poor  name  to  the  lady.' 

'  We  are  a  good  way  from  speech  of  her, '  said 


XXVII  FORGET  ME  NOT  271 

the  Duchess  smiling.  'Our  year  of  doole  must 
pass,  and  mayhap  the  treaty  will  not  hold  in  the 
meantime.  The  King  of  France  would  fain  hin- 
der it.  But  if  the  Demoiselle  loved  you  of  old 
would  she  not  give  you  preferment  in  her  train  if 
she  knew  ? ' 

'Oh!  madame,  I  pray  you  name  me  not  till  she 
be  here !  There  is  much  that  hangs  on  it,  more 
than  I  can  tell  at  present,  without  doing  harm; 
but  I  have  a  petition  to  prefer  to  her. ' 

'  An  affair  of  true  love, '  said  the  Duchess  smil- 
ing. 

'I  know  not.     Oh!  ask  me  not,  madame! ' 

When  Grisell  was  dismissed,  she  began  design- 
ing a  pattern,  in  which  in  spray  after  spray  of  rich 
point,  she  displayed  in  the  pure  frostwork-like 
web,  the  Daisy  of  Margaret,  the  Rose  of  York, 
and  moreover,  combined  therewith,  the  saltire  of 
Nevil  and  the  three  scallops  of  Dacre,  and  each 
connected  with  ramifications  of  the  forget-me-not 
flower  shaped  like  the  turquoises  of  her  pouncet 
box,  and  with  the  letter  G  to  be  traced  by  ingen- 
ious eyes,  though  the  uninitiated  might  observe 
nothing. 

She  had  plenty  of  time,  though  the  treaty  soon 
made  it  as  much  of  a  certainty  as  royal  betrothals 
ever  were,  but  it  was  not  till  July  came  round 


272  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

again  that  Bruges  was  in  a  crisis  of  the  fever  of 
preparation  to  receive  the  bride.  Sculptors, 
painters,  carvers  were  desperately  at  work  at  the 
Duke's  palace.  Weavers,  tapes  try- workers,  em- 
broiderers, sempstresses  were  toiling  day  and 
night,  armourers  and  jewellers  had  no  rest,  and 
the  bright  July  sunshine  lay  glittering  on  the 
canals,  graceful  skiffs,  and  gorgeous  barges,  and 
bringing  out  in  full  detail  the  glories  of  the  archi- 
tecture above,  the  tapestry-hung  windows  in  the 
midst,  the  gaily-clad  Vrows  beneath,  while  the 
bells  rang  out  their  merriest  carillons  from  every 
steeple,  whence  fluttered  the  banners  of  the  guilds. 

The  bride,  escorted  by  Sir  Antony  Wydville, 
was  to  land  at  Sluys,  and  Duchess  Isabel,  with 
little  Mary,  went  to  receive  her. 

'Will  you  go  with  me  as  one  of  my  maids,  or 
as  a  tirewoman  perchance  ? '  asked  the  Duchess 
kindly. 

Grisell  fell  on  her  knee  and  thanked  her,  but 
begged  to  be  permitted  to  remain  where  she  was 
until  the  bride  should  have  some  leisure.  And 
indeed  her  doubts  and  suspense  grew  more  over- 
whelming. As  she  freshly  trimmed  and  broidered 
Leonard's  surcoat  and  sword-belt,  she  heard  one 
of  the  many  gossips  who  delighted  to  recount  the 
members  of  the  English  suite  as  picked  up  from 


XXVII  FORGET  ME  NOT  273 

the  subordinates  of  the  heralds  and  pursuivants 
who  had  to  marshal  the  procession  and  order  the 
banquet.  'Fair  ladies  too,'  he  said, .'from  Eng- 
land. There  is  the  Lord  Audley's  daughter  with 
her  father.  They  say  she  is  the  very  pearl  of 
beauties.  We  shall  see  whether  our  fair  dames 
do  not  surpass  her. ' 

'The  Lord  Audley's  daughter  did  you  say?' 
asked  Grisell. 

'His  daughter,  yea;  but  she  is  a  widow,  bearing 
in  her  lozenge,  per  pale  with  Audley,  gules  three 
herrings  haurient  argent,  for  Heringham.  She  is 
one  of  the  Duchess  Margaret's  dames-of-honour. ' 

To  Grisell  it  sounded  like  her  doom  on  one 
side,  the  crisis  of  her  self-sacrifice,  and  the  open- 
ing of  Leonard's  happiness  on  the  other. 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 

THE  PAGEANT 

When  I  may  read  of  tilts  in  days  of  old, 

And  tourneys  graced  by  chieftains  of  renown, 

Fair  dames,  grave  citoyens,  and  warriors  bold  — 
If  fancy  would  pourtray  some  stately  town, 

Which  for  such  pomp  fit  theatre  would  be, 

Fair  Bruges,  I  shall  then  remember  thee. 

SouTHEY,  Pilgrimage  to  Waterloo. 

Leonard  Copeland  was  in  close  attendance 
on  the  Duke,  and  could  not  give  a  moment  to 
visit  his  friends  at  the  Green  Serpent,  so  that 
there  was  no  knowing  how  the  presence  of  the 
Lady  of  Heringham  affected  him.  Duke  Charles 
rode  out  to  meet  his  bride  at  the  little  town  of 
Damme,  and  here  the  more  important  portions  of 
the  betrothal  ceremony  took  place,  after  which  he 
rode  back  alone  to  the  Cour  des  Princes,  leaving 
to  the  bride  all  the  splendour  of  the  entrance. 

The  monastic  orders  were  to  be  represented  in 

the  procession.     The  Grey  Sisters  thought  they 

had  an  especial  claim,  and  devised  the  presenting 

a  crown  of  white  roses  at  the  gates,  and  with  great 

274 


CHAP.  XXVIII  THE  PAGEANT  276 

pleasure  Grisell  contributed  the  best  of  Master 
Lambert's  lovely  white  Provence  roses  to  complete 
the  garland,  which  was  carried  by  the  youngest 
novice,  a  fair  white  rosebud  herself. 

Every  one  all  along  the  line  of  the  tall  old 
houses  was  hanging  from  window  to  window  rich 
tapestries  of  many  dyes,  often  with  gold  and  silver 
thread.  The  trades  and  guilds  had  renewed  their 
signs,  banners  and  pennons  hung  from  every  abode 
entitled  to  their  use,  garlands  of  bright  flowers 
stretched  here  and  there  and  everywhere.  All 
had  been  in  a  frenzy  of  preparation  for  many  days 
past,  and  the  final  touches  began  with  the  first 
hours  of  light  in  the  long,  summer  morning.  To 
Grisell's  great  delight,  Cuthbert  Ridley  plodded 
in  at  the  hospitable  door  of  the  Green  Serpent  the 
night  before.  'Ah!  my  ladybird,'  said  he,  'in 
good  health  as  ever. ' 

'All  the  better  for  seeing  you,  mine  old  friend,' 
she  cried.  'I  thought  you  were  far  away  at  Com- 
postella. ' 

'So  verily  I  was.  Here's  St.  James's  cockle  to 
wit  —  Santiago  as  they  call  him  there,  and  show 
the  stone  coffin  he  steered  across  the  sea.  No 
small  miracle  that!  And  I've  crossed  France, 
and  looked  at  many  a  field  of  battle  of  the  good 
old  times,  and  thought  and  said  a  prayer  for  the 


276  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

brave  knights  who  broke  lances  there.  But  as  I 
was  making  for  St.  Martha's  cave  in  Provence,  I 
met  a  friar,  who  told  me  of  the  goodly  gathering 
there  was  like  to  be  here ;  ,and  I  would  fain  see 
whether  I  could  hap  upon  old  friends,  or  at  any 
rate  hear  a  smack  of  our  kindly  English  tongue, 
sOi  I  made  the  best  of  my  way  hither. ' 

'In  good  time,'  said  Lambert.  'You  will,  take 
the  lady  and  the  housewife  to  the  stoop  at  Master 
Cax ton's  house,  where  he  has  promised  them  seats 
whence  they  may  view  the  entrance.  I  myself 
am  bound  to  walk  with  my  fellows  of  the  Apothe- 
caries' Society,  and  it  will  be  well  for  them  to 
have  another  guard  in  the  throng,  besides  old 
Anton.' 

'Nay,  but  my  garb  scarce  befits  the  raree  show,' 
said  Ridley,  looking  at  his  russet  gown. 

'We  will  see  to  that  anon,'  said  Lambert;  and 
ere  supper  was  over,  old  Anton  had  purveyed  a 
loose  blue  gown  from  the  neighbouring  merchants, 
with  gold  lace  seams  and  girdle,  peaked  boots, 
and  the  hideous  brimless  hat  which  was  then 
highly  fashionable.  Ridley's  trusty  sword  he  had 
always  worn  under  his  pilgrim's  gown,  and 
with  the  dagger  always  used  as  a  knife,  he  made 
his  appearance  once  more  as  a  squire  of  degree, 
still  putting  the  scallop  into  his  hat,  in  honour  of 
Dacre  as  well  as  of  St.  James. 


xxviii  THE  PAGEANT  277 

The  party  had  to  set  forth  very  early  in  the 
morning,  slowly  gliding  along  several  streets  in 
a  barge,  watching  the  motley  crowds  thronging 
banks  and  bridges  —  a  far  more  brilliant  crowd 
than  in  these  later  centuries,  since  both  sexes  were 
alike  gay  in  plumage.  From  every  house,  even 
those  out  of  the  line  of  the  procession,  hung  tap- 
estry, or  coloured  cloths,  and  the  garlands  of  flow- 
ers, of  all  bright  hues,  with  their  fresh  greenery, 
were  still  unfaded  by  the  clear  morning  sun,  while 
joyous  carillons  echoed  and  re-echoed  from  the 
belfry  and  all  the  steeples.  Ridley  owned  that  he 
had  never  seen  the  like  since  King  Harry  rode 
home  from  Agincourt  —  perhaps  hardly  even  then, 
for  Bruges  was  at  the  height  of  its  splendour,  as 
were  the  Burgundian  Dukes  at  the  very  climax 
of  their  magnificence. 

After  landing  from  the  barge  Ridley,  with 
Grisell  on  his  arm,  and  Anton  with  his  mistress, 
had  a  severe  struggle  with  the  crowd  before  they 
gained  the  ascent  of  the  stoop,  where  the  upper 
steps  had  been  railed  in,  and  seats  arranged  under 
the  shelter  of  the  projecting  roof. 

Master  Caxton  was  a  gray-eyed,  thin-cheeked, 
neatly-made  Kentishman,  who  had  lived  long 
abroad,  and  was  always  ready  to  make  an  Eng- 
lishman welcome.     He  listened  politely  to  Gri- 


278  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

sell's  introduction  of  Master  Ridley,  exchanged 
silent  greetings  with  Vrow  Clemence,  and  in- 
sisted on  their  coming  into  the  chamber  within, 
where  a  repast  of  cold  pasty,  marchpane,  straw- 
berries, and  wine,  awaited  them  —  to  be  eaten 
while  as  yet  there  was  nothing  to  see  save  the 
expectant  multitudes. 

Moreover,  he  wanted  to  show  Mistress  Grisell, 
as  one  of  the  few  who  cared  for  it,  the  manu- 
scripts he  had  collected  on  the  history  of  Troy 
town,  and  likewise  the  strange  machine  on  which 
he  was  experimenting  for  multiplying  copies  of 
the  translation  he  had  in  hand,  with  blocks  for  the 
woodcuts  which  Grisell  could  not  in  conscience 
say  would  be  as  beautiful  as  the  gorgeous  illumi- 
nations of  his  books. 

Acclamations  summoned  them  to  the  front,  of 
course  at  first  to  see  only  scattered  bodies  of  the 
persons  on  the  way  to  meet  the  bride  at  the  gate 
of  St.  Croix. 

By  and  by,  however,  came  the  'gang,'  as  Ridley 
called  it,  in  earnest.  Every  body  of  ecclesiastics 
was  there:  monks  and  friars,  black,  white,  and 
gray;  nuns,  black,  white,  and  blue;  the  clergy  in 
their  richest  robes,  with  costly  crucifixes  of  gold, 
silver,  and  ivor}^  held  aloft,  and  reliquaries  of  the 
most  exquisite  workmanship,  sparkling  with  pre- 


XXVIII  THE  PAGEANT  279 

cious  jewels,  diamond,  ruby,  emerald,  and  sapphire 
flashing  in  the  sun ;  the  fifty-two  guilds  in  gowns, 
each  headed  by  their  Master  and  their  banner, 
gorgeous  in  tint,  but  with  homely  devices,  such 
as  stockings,  saw  and  compasses,  weavers'  shut- 
tles, and  the  like.  Master  Lambert  looked  up  and 
nodded  a  smile  from  beneath  a  banner  with  Apollo 
and  the  Python,  which  Ridley  might  be  excused 
for  taking  for  St.  Michael  and  the  Dragon.  The 
Maj^or  in  scarlet,  white  fur  and  with  gold  collar, 
surrounded  by  his  burgomasters  in  almost  equally 
radiant  garments,  marched  on. 

Next  followed  the  ducal  household,  trumpets 
and  all  sorts  of  instruments  before  them,  making 
the  most  festive  din,  through  which  came  bursts 
of  the  joy  bells.  Violet  and  black  arrayed  the 
inferiors,  setting  off  the  crimson  satin  pourpoints 
of  the  higlier  officers,  on  whose  brimless  hats  each 
waved  with  a  single  ostrich  plume  in  a  shining 
brooch. 

Then  came  more  instruments,  and  a  body  of  gay 
green  archers ;  next  heralds  and  pursuivants,  one 
for  each  of  the  Duke's  domains,  glittering  back 
and  front  in  the  tabard  of  his  county's  armorial 
bearings,  and  with  its  banner  borne  beside  him. 
Then  a  division  of  the  Duke's  body-guard,  all  like 
himself  in  burnished  armour  with  scarves  across 


280  GRISLY   GRISELL  chai-. 

them.  The  nobles  of  Burgundy,  Flanders,  Hain- 
ault,  Holland,  and  Alsace,  the  most  splendid  body 
then  existing,  came  in  endless  numbers,  their 
horses,  feather-crested  as  well  as  themselves,  with 
every  bridle  tinkling  with  silver  bells,  and  the 
animals  invisible  all  but  their  heads  and  tails 
under  their  magnificent  housings,  while  the 
knights  seemed  to  be  pillars  of  radiance.  Yet 
even  more  gorgeous  were  the  knights  of  the 
Golden  Fleece,  who  left  between  them  a  lane  in 
which  moved  six  white  horses,  caparisoned  in 
cloth  of  gold,  drawing  an  open  litter  in  which 
sat,  as  on  a  throne,  herself  dazzling  in  cloth  of 
silver,  the  brown-eyed  Margaret  of  old,  her  dark 
hair  bride  fashion  flowing  on  her  shoulders,  and 
around  it  a  marvellously-glancing  diamond  coro- 
net, above  it,  however,  the  wreath  of  white  roses, 
which  her  own  hands  had  placed  there  when  pre- 
sented by  the  novice.  Clemence  squeezed  Gri- 
sell's  hand  with  delight  as  she  recognised  her  own 
white  rose,  the  finest  of  the  garland. 

Immediately  after  the  car  came  Margaret's 
English  attendants,  the  stately,  handsome  Antony 
Wydville  riding  nearest  to  her,  and  then  a  bevy 
of  dames  and  damsels  on  horseback,  but  moving 
so  slowly  that  Grisell  had  full  time  to  discover 
the  silver  herrings  on  the  caparisons  of  one  of  the 


XXVIII  THE   PAGEANT  281 

palfreys,  and  then  to  raise  her  eyes  to  the  face  of 
the  tall  stately  lady  whose  long  veil,  flowing  down 
from  her  towered  head-gear,  by  no  means  con- 
cealed a  beautiful  complexion  and  fair  perfect 
features,  such  as  her  own  could  never  have  rivalled 
even  if  they  had  never  been  defaced.  Her  heart 
sank  within  her,  everything  swam  before  her  eyes, 
she  scarcely  saw  the  white  doves  let  loose  from 
the  triumphant  arch  beyond  to  greet  the  royal 
lady,  and  was  first  roused  by  Ridley's  exclamation 
as  the  knights  with  their  attendants  began  to 
pass. 

'Ha!  the  lad  kens  me!  'Tis  Harry  Feather- 
stone  as  I  live. ' 

Much  more  altered  in  these  seven  years  than 
was  Cuthbert  Ridley,  there  rode  as  a  fully- 
equipped  squire  in  the  rear  of  a  splendid  knight, 
Harry  Featherstone,  the  survivor  of  the  dismal 
Bridge  of  Wakefield.  He  was  lowering  his  lance 
in  greeting,  but  there  was  no  knowing  whether  it 
was  to  Ridley  or  to  Grisell,  or  whether  he  recog- 
nised her,  as  she  wore  her  veil  far  over  her  face. 

This  to  Grisell  closed  the  whole.  She  did  not 
see  the  figure  which  was  more  to  her  than  all  the 
rest,  for  he  was  among  the  knights  and  guards 
waiting  at  the  Cour  des  Princes  to  receive  the 
bride  when  the  final  ceremonies  of  the  marriage 
were  to  be  performed. 


282  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

Ridley  declared  his  intention  of  seeking  out 
young  Featherstone,  but  Grisell  impressed  on  him 
that  she  wished  to  remain  unknown  for  the  pres- 
ent, above  all  to  Sir  Leonard  Copeland,  and  he 
had  been  quite  sufficiently  alarmed  by  the  accusa- 
tions of  sorcery  to  believe  in  the  danger  of  her 
becoming  known  among  the  English. 

'More  by  token,'  said  he,  'that  the  house  of 
this  Master  Caxton  as  you  call  him  seems  to  me 
no  canny  haunt.  Tell  me  what  you  will  of  mak- 
ing manifold  good  books  or  bad,  I'll  never  believe 
but  that  Dr.  Faustus  and  the  Devil  hatched  the 
notion  between  them  for  the  bewilderment  of 
men's  brains  and  the  slackening  of  their  hands.' 

Thus  Ridley  made  little  more  attempt  to  per- 
suade his  young  lady  to  come  forth  to  the  specta- 
cles of  the  next  fortnight  to  which  he  rushed, 
through  crowds  and  jostling,  to  behold,  with  the 
ardour  of  an  old  warrior,  the  various  tilts  and 
tourneys,  though  he  grumbled  that  they  were 
nothing  but  child's  play  and  vain  show,  no  ear- 
nest in  them  fit  for  a  man. 

Clemence,  however,  was  all  eyes,  and  revelled 
in  the  sight  of  the  wonders,  the  view  of  the  Tree 
of  Gold,  and  the  champion  thereof  in  the  lists  of 
the  H6tel  de  Ville,  and  again,  some  days  later,  of 
the   banquet,    when   the   table   decorations   were 


XXVIII  THE  PAGEANT  283 

mosaic  gardens  with  silver  trees,  laden  with  enam- 
elled fruit,  and  where,  as  an  interlude,  a  whale 
sixty  feet  long  made  its  entrance  and  emitted  from 
its  jaws  a  troop  of  Moorish  youths  and  maidens, 
who  danced  a  saraband  to  the  sound  of  tambou- 
rines and  cymbals !  Such  scenes  were  bliss  to  the 
deaf  housewife,  and  would  enliven  the  silent 
world  of  her  memory  all  the  rest  of  her  life. 

The  Duchess  Isabel  had  retired  to  the  Grey 
Sisters,  such  scenes  being  inappropriate  to  her 
mourning,  and  besides  her  apartments  being 
needed  for  the  influx  of  guests.  There,  in  early 
morning,  before  the  revels  began,  Grisell  ventured 
to  ask  for  an  audience,  and  was  permitted  to 
follow  the  Duchess  when  she  returned  from  mass 
to  her  own  apartments. 

'Ah!  my  lace  weaver.  Have  you  had  your 
share  in  the  revels  and  pageantries  ? ' 

'I  saw  the  procession,  so  please  your  Grace.' 

'And  your  old  playmate  in  her  glory?  ' 

'Yea,  madame.  It  almost  forestalled  the  glories 
of  Heaven ! ' 

'Ah!  child,  may  the  aping  of  such  glory  before- 
hand not  unfit  us  for  the  veritable  everlasting 
glories,  when  all  these  things  shall  be  no  more. ' 

The  Duchess  clasped  her  hands,  almost  as  a 
foreboding  of  the  day  when  her  son's  corpse  should 


284  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap,  xxviii. 

lie,  forsaken,  gashed,  and  stripped,  beside  the 
marsh. 

But  she  turned  to  Grisell  asking  if  she  had 
come  with  any  petition. 

'Only,  madame,  that  it  would  please  your  High- 
ness to  put  into  the  hands  of  the  new  Duchess 
herself,  this  offering,  without  naming  me. ' 

She  produced  her  exquisite  fabric,  which  was 
tied  with  ribbons  of  blue  and  silver  in  an  outer 
case,  worked  with  the  White  Rose. 

The  Dowager-Duchess  exclaimed,  'Nay,  but 
this  is  more  beauteous  than  all  you  have  wrought 
before.  Ah!  here  is  your  own  device!  I  see 
there  is  purpose  in  these  patterns  of  your  web. 
And  am  I  not  to  name  you  ?  ' 

'I  pray  your  Highness  to  be  silent,  unless  the 
Duchess  should  divine  the  worker.  Nay,  it  is 
scarce  to  be  thought  that  she  will. ' 

'Yet  you  have  put  the  flower  that  my  English 
mother  called  "Forget-me-not."  Ah,  maiden, 
has  it  a  purpose  ?  ' 

'Madame,  madame,  ask  me  no  questions.  Only 
remember  in  your  prayers  to  ask  that  I  may  do  the 
right,'  said  Grisell,  with  clasped  hands  and  weep- 
ing eyes. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

DUCHESS   MARGARET 

I  beheld  the  pageants  splendid,  that  adorned  those  days  of 

old; 
Stately  dames,  like  queens  attended,  knights  who  bore  the 

Fleece  of  Gold. 

Longfellow,  The  Belfry  of  Bruges. 

In  another  week  the  festivities  were  over,  and 
she  waited  anxiously,  dreading  each  day  more  and 
more  that  her  gift  had  been  forgotten  or  misun- 
derstood, or  that  her  old  companion  disdained  or 
refused  to  take  notice  of  her;  then  trying  to  con- 
sole herself  by  remembering  the  manifold  engage- 
ments and  distractions  of  the  bride. 

Happily,  Grisell  thought,  Ridley  was  absent 
when  Leonard  Copeland  came  one  evening  to  sup- 
per. He  was  lodged  among  the  guards  of  the 
Duke  in  the  palace,  and  had  much  less  time  at  his 
disposal  than  formerly,  for  Duke  Charles  insisted 
on  the  most  strict  order  and  discipline  among  all 
his  attendants.  Moreover,  there  were  tokens  of 
enmity  on  the  part  of  the  French  on  the  border  of 
286 


286  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

the  Somme,  and  Leonard  expected  to  be  de- 
spatched to  the  camp  which  was  being  formed 
there.  He  was  out  of  spirits.  The  sight  and 
speech  of  so  many  of  his  countrymen  had  in- 
creased the  longing  for  home. 

'I  loathe  the  mincing  French  and  the  fat  Flem- 
ish tongues,'  he  owned,  when  Master  Lambert 
was  out  of  hearing.  'I  should  feel  at  home  if  I 
could  but  hear  an  honest  carter  shout  "  Woa  "  to 
his  horses.' 

'Did  you  have  any  speech  with  the  ladies?' 
asked  Grisell. 

'I?  No!  What  reck  they  of  a  poor  knight 
adventurer  ? ' 

'Methought  all  the  chivalry  were  peers,  and 
that  a  belted  knight  was  a  comrade  for  a  king,' 
said  Grisell. 

'Ay,  in  the  days  of  the  Round  Table;  but  when 
Dukes  and  Counts,  and  great  Marquesses  and 
Barons  swarm  like  mayflies  by  a  trout  stream, 
what  chance  is  there  that  a  poor,  landless  exile 
will  have  a  word  or  a  glance  ? ' 

Did  this  mean  that  the  fair  Eleanor  had  scorned 
him  ?  Grisell  longed  to  know,  but  for  that  very 
reason  she  faltered  when  about  to  ask,  and  turned 
her  query  into  one  whether  he  had  heard  any  news 
of  his  English  relations. 


XXIX  DUCHESS  MARGARET  287 

'My  good  uncle  at  Wearmouth  hath  been  dead 
these  four  years  —  so  far  as  I  can  gather.  Amply 
must  he  have  supplied  Master  Groot.  I  must 
account  with  him.  For  mine  inheritance  I  can 
gather  nothing  clearly.  I  fancy  the  truth  is  that 
George  Copeland,  who  holds  it,  is  little  better 
than  a  reiver  on  either  side,  and  that  King  Ed- 
ward might  grant  it  back  to  me  if  I  paid  my  hom- 
age, save  that  he  is  sworn  never  to  pardon  any 
who  had  a  share  in  the  death  of  his  brother  of 
Rutland. ' 

'You  had  not!     I  know  you  had  not! ' 

'Hurt  Ned?  I'd  as  soon  have  hurt  my  own 
brother!  Nay,  I  got  this  blow  from  Clifford  for 
coming  between,'  said  he,  pushing  back  his  hair 
so  as  to  show  a  mark  near  his  temple.  'But  how 
did  you  know  ?  ' 

'Harry  Featherstone  told  me.'  She  had  all  but 
said,  'My  father's  squire.' 

'You  knew  Featherstone?  Belike  when  he  was 
at  Whitburn.  He  is  here  now;  a  good  man  of  his 
hands,'  muttered  Leonard.  'Anyway  the  King 
believes  I  had  a  hand  in  that  cruel  business  of 
Wakefield  Bridge,  and  nought  but  his  witness 
would  save  my  neck  if  once  I  ventured  into  Eng- 
land —  if  that  would.  So  I  may  resign  myself  to 
be  the  Duke's  captain  of  archers  for  the  rest  of  my 


288  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

days.  Heigh  ho!  And  a  lonely  man;  I  fear  me 
in  debt  to  good  Master  Lambert,  or  may  be  to 
Mistress  Grisell,  to  whom  I  owe  more  than  coin 
will  pay.  Ha !  was  that '  interrupting  him- 
self, for  a  trumpet  blast  was  ringing  out  at  inter- 
vals, the  signal  of  summons  to  the  men-at-arms. 
Leonard  started  up,  waved  farewell,  and  rushed 
off. 

The  summons  proved  to  be  a  call  to  the  men- 
at-arms  to  attend  the  Duke  early  the  next  morn- 
ing on  an  expedition  to  visit  his  fortresses  in 
Picardy,  and  as  the  household  of  the  Green  Ser- 
pent returned  from  mass,  they  heard  the  tramp 
and  clatter,  and  saw  the  armour  flash  in  the  sun 
as  the  troop  passed  along  the  main  street,  and 
became  visible  at  the  opening  of  that  up  which 
they  walked. 

The  next  day  came  a  summons  from  the  convent 
of  the  Grey  Sisters  that  Mistress  Griselda  was  to 
attend  the  Duchess  Isabel. 

She  longed  to  fly  through  the  air,  but  her  limbs 
trembled.  Indeed,  she  shook  so  that  she  could 
not  stand  still  nor  walk  slowly.  She  hurried  on 
so  that  the  lay  sister  who  had  been  sent  for  her 
was  quite  out  of  breath,  and  panted  after  her  with 
gasps  of  '  Stay !  stay,  mistress !  No  bear  is  after 
us  I     She  runs  as  though  a  mad  ox  had  got  loose! ' 


XXIX  DUCHESS  MARGARET  289 

Her  heart  was  wild  enough  for  anything !  She 
might  have  to  hear  from  her  kind  Duchess  that  all 
was  vain  and  unnoticed. 

Up  the  stair  she  went,  to  the  accustomed  cham- 
ber, where  an  additional  chair  was  on  the  daij 
under  the  canopy,  the  half  circle  of  ladies  as 
usual,  but  before  she  had  seen  more  with  her 
dazzled,  swimming  eyes,  even  as  she  rose  from 
her  first  genuflection,  she  found  herself  in  a  pair 
of  soft  arms,  kisses  rained  on  her  cheeks  and  brow, 
and  there  was  a  tender  cry  in  her  own  tongue  of 
'My  Grisell!  my  dear  old  Grisell!  I  have  found 
you  at  last !  Oh !  that  was  good  in  you.  I  knew 
the  forget-me-nots,  and  all  your  little  devices. 
Ah ! '  as  Grisell,  unable  to  speak  for  tears  of  joy, 
held  up  the  pouncet  box,  the  childish  gift. 

The  soft  pink  velvet  bodice  girdled  and  clasped 
with  diamonds  was  pressed  to  her,  the  deep  hang- 
ing silken  sleeves  were  round  her,  the  white  satin 
broidered  skirt  swept  about  her  feet,  the  pearl- 
edged  matronly  cap  on  the  youthful  head  leant 
fondly  against  her,  as  Margaret  led  her  up,  still 
in  her  embrace,  and  cried,  'It  is  she,  it  is  she! 
Dear  belle  mere,  thanks  indeed  for  bringing  us 
together! ' 

The  Countess  of  Poitiers  looked  on  scandalised 
at  English  impulsiveness,  and  the  elder  Duchess 


290  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

herself  looked  for  a  moment  stiff,  as  her  lace-maker 
slipped  to  her  knees  to  kiss  her  hand  and  murmur 
her  thanks. 

'Let  me  look  at  you,'  cried  Margaret.  'Ah! 
have  you  recovered  that  terrible  mishap?  By  my 
troth,  'tis  nearly  gone.  I  should  never  have  found 
it  out  had  I  not  known ! ' 

This  was  rather  an  exaggeration,  but  joy  did 
make  a  good  deal  of  difference  in  Grisell's  face, 
and  the  Duchess  Margaret  was  one  of  the  most 
eager  and  warm-hearted  people  living,  fervent 
alike  in  love  and  in  hate,  ready  both  to  act  on 
slight  evidence  for  those  whose  cause  she  took  up, 
and  to  nourish  bitter  hatred  against  the  enemies 
of  her  house. 

'Now,  tell  me  all,'  she  continued  in  English. 
'I  heard  that  you  had  been  driven  out  of  Wilton, 
and  my  uncle  of  Warwick  had  sped  you  north- 
ward. HoAV  is  it  that  you  are  here,  weaving  lace 
like  any  mechanical  sempstress?  Nay,  nay!  I 
cannot  listen  to  you  on  your  knees.  We  have 
hugged  one  another  too  often  for  that. ' 

Grisell,  with  the  elder  Duchess's  permission, 
seated  herself  on  the  cushion  at  Margaret's  feet. 
'Speak  English,'  continued  the  bride.  'I  am 
wearying  already  of  French!  Ma  belle  m^re,  you 
will  not  find  fault.  You  know  a  little  of  our  own 
honest  tongue. ' 


XXIX  DUCHESS  MARGARET  291 

Duchess  Isabel  smiled,  and  Grisell,  in  answer 
to  the  questions  of  Margaret,  told  her  story. 
When  she  came  to  the  mention  of  her  marriage  to 
Leonard  Copeland,  there  was  the  vindictive  excla- 
mation, 'Bound  to  that  blood-thirsty  traitor! 
Never !  After  the  way  he  treated  you,  no  marvel 
that  he  fell  on  my  sweet  Edmund ! ' 

'Ah!  madame,  he  did  not!  He  tried  to  save 
him.' 

'  He !     A  follower  of  King  Henry !     Never ! ' 

'Truly,  madame!  He  had  ever  loved  Lord 
Edmund.  He  strove  to  stay  Lord  Clifford's  hand, 
and  threw  himself  between,  but  Clifford  dashed 
him  aside,  and  he  bears  still  the  scar  where  he 
fell  against  the  parapet  of  the  bridge.  Harry 
Featherstone  told  me,  when  he  fled  from  the 
piteous  field,  where  died  my  father  and  brother 
Robin.' 

'Your  brother,  Robin  Dacre!  I  remember  him. 
I  would  have  made  him  good  cheer  for  your  sake, 
but  my  mother  was  ever  strict,  and  rapped  our 
fingers,  nay,  treated  us  to  the  rod,  if  we  ever  spake 
to  any  of  my  father's  mein^.  Tell  on,  Grisell, '  as 
her  hand  found  its  way  under  the  hood,  and 
stroked  the  fair  hair.     'Poor  lonely  one! ' 

Her  indignation  was  great  when  she  heard  of 
Copeland's  love,  and  still  more  of  his  mission  to 


292  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

seize  Whitburn,  saying,  truly  enough,  that  he 
should  have  taken  both  lady  and  Tower,  or  given 
both  up,  and  lending  a  most  unwilling  ear  to  the 
plea  that  he  had  never  thought  his  relations  to 
Grisell  binding.  She  had  never  loved  Lady  Her- 
ingham,  and  it  was  plainly  with  good  cause. 

Then  followed  the  rest  of  the  story,  and  when 
it  appeared  that  Grisell  had  been  instrumental  in 
saving  Copeland,  and  close  inquiries  elicited  that 
she  had  been  maintaining  him  all  this  w^hile,  act- 
ually for  seven  years,  all  unknown  to  him,  the 
young  Duchess  could  not  contain  herself.  'Gri- 
sell! Grisell  of  patience  indeed.  Belle  mdre, 
belle  mere,  do  you  understand?'  and  in  rapid 
French  she  recounted  all. 

'He  is  my  husband,'  said  Grisell  simply,  as  the 
two  Duchesses  showed  their  wonder  and  admira- 
tion. 

'Never  did  tale  or  ballad  show  a  more  saintly 
wife,'  cried  Margaret.  'And  now  what  would 
you  have  me  do  for  you,  my  most  patient  of  Gri- 
sells?  Write  to  my  brother  the  King  to  restore 
your  lands,  and  —  and  I  suppose  you  would  have 
this  recreant  fellow's  given  back  since  you  say  he 
has  seen  the  error  of  following  that  make-bate 
Queen.  But  can  you  prove  him  free  of  Edmund's 
blood?     Aught  but  that  might  be  forgiven.' 


XXIX  DUCHESS  MARGARET  293 

'Master  Feathers  tone  is  gone  back  to  England,' 
said  Grisell,  'but  he  can  bear  witness;  but  my 
father's  old  squire,  Cuthbert  Ridley,  is  here,  who 
heard  his  story  when  he  came  to  us  from  Wake- 
field. Moreover,  I  have  seen  the  mark  on  Sir 
Leonard's  brow.' 

'Let  be.  I  will  write  to  Edward  an  you  will. 
He  has  been  more  prone  to  Lancaster  folk  since  he 
was  caught  by  the  wiles  of  Lady  Grey;  but  I 
would  that  I  could  hear  what  would  clear  this 
knight  of  yours  by  other  testimony  than  such  as 
your  loving  heart  may  frame.  But  you  must 
come  and  be  one  of  mine,  my  own  ladies, 
Grisell,  and  never  go  back  to  your  Poticary  — 
Faugh!' 

This,  however,  Grisell  would  not  hear  of;  and 
Margaret  really  reverenced  her  too  much  to  press 
her. 

However,  Ridley  was  sent  for  to  the  Cour  des 
Princes,  and  returned  with  a  letter  to  be  borne  to 
King  Edward,  and  likewise  a  mission  to  find 
Featherstone,  and  if  possible  Red  Jock. 

"Tis  working  for  that  rogue  Copeland,'  he 
growled.  'I  would  it  were  for  you,  my  sweet 
lady.' 

'It  is  working  for  me!  Think  so  with  all  your 
heart,  good  Cuthbert.' 


294  GRISLY  GRISELL  chap,  xxix 

'Well,  end  as  it  may,  you  will  at  least  ken  who 
and  what  you  are,  wed  or  unwed,  fish,  flesh  or 
good  red  herring,  and  cease  to  live  nameless,  like 
the  Poticary's  serving-woman,'  concluded  Ridley 
as  his  parting  grumble. 


CHAPTER   XXX 

THE   WEDDING   CHIMES 

Low  at  times  and  loud  at  times, 
Changing  like  a  poet's  rhymes, 
Rang  the  beautiful  wild  chimes, 
From  the  belfry  in  the  market 
Of  the  ancient  town  of  Bruges. 

Longfellow,  The  Carillon. 

No  more  was  heard  of  the  Duchess  for  some 
weeks.  Leonard  was  absent  with  the  Duke,  who 
was  engaged  in  that  unhappy  affair  of  Peroune 
and  Li^ge,  the  romantic  version  of  which  may  be 
read  in  Quentin  Durward^  and  with  which  the 
present  tale  dares  not  to  meddle,  though  it  seemed 
to  blast  the  life  of  Charles  the  Bold,  all  unknow- 
ing. 

The  Duchess  Margaret  was  youthful  enough  to 
have  a  strong  taste  for  effect,  and  it  was  after  a 
long  and  vexatious  delay  that  Grisell  was  suddenly 
summoned  to  her  presence,  to  be  escorted  by  Mas- 
ter Groot.  There  she  sat,  on  her  chair  of  state, 
with  the  high  tapestried  back  and  the  square  can- 

295 


296  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap. 

opy,  and  in  the  throng  of  gentlemen  around  her 
Grisell  at  a  glance  recognised  Sir  Leonard,  and 
likewise  Cuthbert  Ridley  and  Harry  Featherstone, 
though  of  course  it  was  not  etiquette  to  exchange 
any  greetings. 

She  knelt  to  kiss  the  Duchess's  hand,  and  as 
she  did  so  Margaret  raised  her,  kissing  her  brow, 
and  saying  with  a  clear  full  voice,  'I  greet  you. 
Lady  Copeland,  Baroness  of  Whitburn.  Here  is 
a  letter  from  my  brother.  King  Edward,  calling 
on  the  Bishop  of  Durham,  Count  Palatine,  to  put 
you  in  possession  of  thy  castle  and  lands,  whoever 
may  gainsay  it. ' 

That  Leonard  started  with  amazement  and  made 
a  step  forward  Grisell  was  conscious,  as  she  bent 
again  to  kiss  the  hand  that  gave  the  letter;  but 
there  was  more  to  come,  and  Margaret  con- 
tinued — 

'Also,  to  you,  as  to  one  who  has  the  best  right, 
I  give  this  parchment,  sealed  and  signed  by  my 
brother,  the  King,  containing  his  full  and  free 
pardon  to  the  good  knight.  Sir  Leonard  Copeland, 
and  his  restoration  to  all  his  honours  and  his 
manors.  Take  it.  Lady  of  Whitburn.  It  was 
you,  his  true  wife,  who  won  it  for  him.  It  is  you 
who  should  give  it  to  him.  Stand  forth.  Sir 
Leonard. ' 


XXX  THE   WEDDING  CHIMES  297 

He  did  stand  forth,  faltering  a  little,  as  his  first 
impulse  had  been  to  kneel  to  Grisell,  then  recol- 
lecting himself,  to  fall  at  the  Duchess's  feet  in 
thanks. 

'To  her,  to  her,'  said  the  Duchess;  but  Grisell, 
as  he  turned,  spoke,  tr3dng  to  clear  her  voice  from 
a  rising  sob. 

*Sir  Leonard,  wait,  I  pray.  Her  Highness  hath 
not  spoken  all.  I  am  well  advised  that  the  wed- 
lock into  which  you  were  forced  against  your  will 
was  of  no  avail  to  bind  us,  as  you  in  mind  and 
will  were  contracted  to  the  Lady  Eleanor  Audley. ' 

Leonard  opened  his  lips,  but  she  waved  him  to 
silence.  'True,  I  know  that  she  was  likewise 
constrained  to  wed;  but  she  is  a  widow,  and  free 
to  choose  for  herself.  Therefore,  either  by  the 
bishop,  or  it  may  be  through  our  Holy  Father  the 
Pope,  by  mutual  consent,  shall  the  marriage  at 
Whitburn  be  annulled  and  declared  void,  and  I 
pray  you  to  accept  seisin  thereof,  while  my  lady, 
her  Highness  the  Duchess  Isabel,  with  the  Lady 
Prioress,  will  accept  me  as  a  Grey  Sister. ' 

There  was  a  murmur.  Margaret  utterly  amazed 
would  have  sprung  forward  and  exclaimed,  but 
Leonard  was  beforehand  with  her. 

'Never!  never! '  he  cried,  throwing  himself  on 
his  knees  and  mastering  his  wife's  hand.     'Gri- 


298  '     GRISLY  GRISELL  chap. 

sell,  Grisell,  dost  think  I  could  turn  to  the  feather- 
pated,  dull-souled,  fickle-hearted  thing  I  know 
now  Eleanor  of  Audley  to  be,  instead  of  you  ? ' 

There  was  a  murmur  of  applause,  led  by  the 
young  Duchess  herself,  but  Grisell  tried  still  to 
withdraw  her  hand,  and  say  in  low  broken  tones, 
*Nay,  nay;  she  is  fair,  I  am  loathly.' 

'What  is  her  fair  skin  to  me  ?  '  he  cried;  'to  me, 
who  have  learnt  to  know,  and  love,  and  trust  to 
you  with  a  very  different  love  from  the  boy's  pas- 
sion I  felt  for  Eleanor  in  youth,  and  the  cure 
whereof  was  the  sight  and  words  of  the  Lady 
Heringham!  Grisell,  Grisell,  I  was  about  to  lay 
my  very  heart  at  your  feet,  when  the  Duke's 
trumpet  called  me  away,  ere  I  guessed,  fool  that  I 
was,  that  mine  was  the  hand  that  left  the  scar 
that  now  I  love,  but  which  once  I  treated  with  a 
brute's  or  a  boy's  lightness.  Oh!  pardon  me! 
Still  less  did  I  know  that  it  was  my  own  for- 
saken wife  who  saved  my  life,  who  tended  my 
sickness,  nay,  as  I  verily  believed,  toiled  for  me 
and  my  bread  through  these  long  seven  years,  all 
in  secret.  Yea,  and  won  my  entire  soul  and  deep 
devotion  or  ever  I  knew  that  it  was  to  you  alone 
that  they  were  due.  Grisell,  Grisell,'  as  she 
could  not  speak  for  tears.  'Oh  forgive!  Pardon 
me!     Turn  not  away  to  be  a  Grey  Sister.     I  can- 


XXX  THE   WEDDING   CHIMES  299 

not  do  without  you!  Take  me!  Let  me  strive 
throughout  my  life  to  merit  a  little  better  all  that 
you  have  done  and  suffered  for  one  so  unworthy ! ' 
Grisell  could  not  speak,  but  she  turned  towards 
him,  and  regardless  of  all  spectators,  she  was 
for  the  first  time  clasped  in  her  husband's  arms, 
amid  the  joyful  tears  of  her  friends  high  and 
low. 

What  more  shall  be  told  of  that  victory  ?  Shall 
it  be  narrated  how  this  wedlock  was  blest  in  the 
chapel,  while  all  the  lovely  bells  of  Bruges  rang 
out  in  rejoicing,  how  Mynheer  Groot  and  Clem- 
ence  rejoiced  though  they  lost  their  guest,  how 
Caxton  gave  them  a  choice  specimen  of  his  print- 
ing, how  Ridley  doffed  his  pilgrim's  garb  and 
came  out  as  a  squire  of  dames,  how  the  farewells 
were  sorrowfully  exchanged  with  the  Duchess, 
and  how  the  Duke  growled  that  from  whichever 
party  he  took  his  stout  English  he  was  sure  to 
lose  them? 

Then  there  was  homage  to  King  Edward  paid 
not  very  willingly,  and  a  progress  northward.  At 
York,  Thora,  looking  worn  and  haggard,  came  and 
entreated  forgiveness,  declaring  that  she  had  little 
guessed  what  her  talk  was  doing,  and  that  Ralph 
made  her  believe  whatever  he  chose !     She  had  a 


300  GRISLY   GRISELL  chap,  xxx 

hard  life,  treated  like  a  slave  by  the  burgesses, 
who  despised  the  fisher  maid.  Oh  that  she  could 
go  back  to  serve  her  dear  good  lady ! 

There  was  a  triumph  at  Whitburn  to  welcome 
the  lady  after  the  late  reign  of  misrule,  and  so  did 
the  knight  and  dame  govern  their  estates  that  for 
long  years  the  time  of  '  Grisly  Grisell '  was  remem- 
bered as  Whitburn's  golden  age.    ■ 


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to.  The  best  use  has  been  made  of  this  literature,  and  in  one  particular  a  high 
style  of  art  is  attained.  The  little  anecdotes,  touches  of  description  and  details 
which  have  to  be  collected  from  so  wide  an  area,  and  which  lend  such  life  and 
vividness  to  the  page  of  an  historian,  are  here  employed  to  perfection."  — 
Churchman. 

"  It  would  be  hard  indeed  to  find  a  book  in  which  this  period  is  treated  more 
attractively  for  young  people  and  general  readers,  who  require  strong  emphasis 
to  be  laid  on  the  readableness  of  the  style."— Chrish'an  Union. 


The  Victorian  Half  Century.    A  Jubilee  Book.    Paper,  25  cents; 
cloth,  50  cents. 

European  History.    By  Charlotte  M.  Yonge  and  E.  M.  Sewell. 
2  vols.     Each  $1.50, 

History  of  Christian  Names.     New  and  Revised  Edition.    ^2.50. 

"  It  is  full  of  curious  information,  legends,  and  myths,  and  though  but  a  his- 
tory of  names,  is  of  greater  interest  than  many  histories  of  deeds.  ...  In  ster- 
ling worth  and  importance  we  think  her  *  History  of  Christian  Names '  leads  all 
the  rest  and  will  outlast  them  all." —  Chu7'ch  News. 

"  History,  philology,  legend,  folk-lore,  and  antiquarianism  have  all  been  called 
on  to  yield  up  their  treasures,  and  the  subject  is  treated  exhaustively  and  intelli- 
gently."—  Christian  Union. 

Scripture  Readings  for  Schools  and  Families.     With  Comments. 
Vol.  I.  Genesis  to  Deuteronomy.     Third  Edition.    90  cents. 
II.  Joshua  to  Solomon.    90  cents. 

III.  Kings  and  Prophets.    90  cents. 

IV,  The  Gospel  Times.    90  cents. 
V.  Apostolic  Times.    90  cents. 

The  Pupils  of  St.  John.     Illustrated.    ^1.75. 


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